Compassion Holding its Breath
by maruxf
Summary: Twilight always felt as if it had started from a much more "adult" place than the books showed; as if an editor had said "this is good, but let's clean it up for young adults." But really...why is Bella so insecure and where does Edward's self-loathing truly come from? Rosalie's festering hostility? Esme's truncated yearnings? Carlisle's regrets? This is a grown-ups Twilight.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Ms. M does. If I did own them, I would be sunning myself on my private south Pacific island while sipping a mojito, not freezing my butt off in my sad apartment while a mid-Atlantic snowstorm rages outside.

Compassion Holding its Breath

Chapter 1: Déjà Vu

"Her parents were joking, right?!" was the first thing I heard after I got out of my truck.

Surely, my psychic skills must be blooming because as soon as I won the daily battle to get my key back from the truck's lock and started walking towards the gates of Hades (or what others call Forks High's front doors) I was struck by a profound sense of déjà vu.

The source of the voice and all-kinds of evil was, like she always was, sitting on the hood of her Styx-crossing ferry (or what normal humans call a 1999 Toyota Corolla).

I just knew what I would see if I looked. The owner of the nails-on-a-chalkboard voice, the queen bee, mean-girl herself in all her hoochy glory: Lauren.

How she manages to look like that at the ungodly hour of 7:30 every morning is one of the many mysteries of Forks. I mean, it must take hours to pile on that much make-up. And hair spray. Surely, there is a personal-size hole in the ozone right over the Mallory home.

"I know, right. What were they thinking? Bella Swan. Ha! More like Daffy Duck." That would be Jessica. Who is, without a doubt, the cliché to end all clichés. Really. It's March. In Forks. In the Pacific Northwest. Which accounts for her Ugg boots. And then accounts for nothing else. Okay, maybe the corduroy material of her micro, mini skirt. But nothing else. Case-in-point: Tank top, no bra, nipples on DEFCON 1, and not a coat or jacket in sight.

I'm pretty sure that if her vagina held up the town's convenience store, it could be identified from a police line-up by the entire varsity football team. And anybody with eyes.

The Daffy Duck comment is met with approval. Rousing appreciation that incites a bunch of commentary screamed across from the lot...with a lisp. I have to admit the lisp sound effect is a nice touch. I sigh as I study my second-hand, slip-on Vans.

Left, right, left, right.

I have to walk faster. I'm nowhere near the door and I really don't want to hear the rest of what's become part of my morning ritual: Wake up, wait for Charlie to leave for work, brush teeth, breakfast, drive to school, fight the truck door to get the sticky key unstuck, and suffer a bit of harassment by the school's "cool patrol" as I walk across the parking lot. Hence, the déjà vu. I've done this all before.

However, since walking faster exponentially increases the already high probability that I will find nothing to trip over and do a face plant, I don't increase my pace.

Left, right, left, right.

Wait for it...wait for it...

There it is and right on cue: "I just can't believe that as soon as you guys heard that the Chief's long-lost daughter was moving back you were all panting over that..." Behind the curtain of my hair, I steal a peak at Lauren. Yup, my psychic skills are definitely on an upswing. She is giving me a sneer and simultaneously giving one of the males around her the bitch-brow.

"Lauren, baby, how many times do I have to say it? We was broken up 'cause you wanted a break! Besides after seeing the fresh meat be not-so fresh, I changed my mind. You are still the hottest thing. My dick only wants to tap you, baby!" Of course. Tyler: Recipient of the Lauren bitch-brow. Mr. All-sports, all-conference, all-state. Letterman jacket, poser-OG, pants-on-the-ground, bling baby Jeebus, Nikes-sporting meat-heat, wannabe thug. His groveling gets interrupted by Lauren leaning over and sticking her tongue down his throat and...

"Duck, duck, Swan!...Forks High newest mascot!" That would be Mick. No. Mike. Right. Mike Newton: Blond, L.A. Looks hair gel, pink-Lacoste-wearing, collar-poppin', Axe body spray-smelling Mike. He has himself in stitches as he quacks my way: "Quack, quack, quack!"

"Oh my god, Mike would you like, shut it…" Jessica's dulcet tones plead; I'm sure that her coming to my aid has probably caused an apocalypse-inducing tilt of the Earth's axis, but then the universe rights itself: "Mikey, like seriously, ducks are super cute, and Swan is like, gross..."

Mike levels a contemplative look my way and ponders: "Swan the Goose, then." And I roll my eyes because I know he just about exhausted his entire brain capacity coming up with that dazzling riposte. Ever the wordsmith, he follows his own train to its predictable end.

And here it comes…wait for it….

"Hooonk!"

Of course.

"Honk, goose, hooooonk"

At this point the entire student population is staring at Mike, seemingly mesmerized by his comedic breakthrough. "Honk!" he hollers and points at me. As if it wasn't as obvious that I was the object of his attention.

Just follow the eyeballs.

Mike. "Honk!"

Me. They point at and titter.

Mike. "Honk, Hoooooonnnnnkkkk!"

Me. More pointing and titters turn to laughs.

Today, I achieve a new low- the gross, pimply freshman that picks his nose in the cafeteria is sharing a snicker with his World of Warcraft compatriots. At my expense.

Mike's honking finally gets interrupted by Angela leaning over and telling him to stop.

Ah, yes. Angela: The preacher's daughter. Never seen without her phalange, Ben: the quiet, smart guy. They are both an oasis of 'nice' in a desert of evil. I don't understand why those two hang with my tormentors but I suppose in a school of 328 students, the available "friends"-options are slim. Or maybe Angela and Ben don't particularly care about the quality of people they share oxygen with.

Pondering the psychosocial reasons for that seemingly incompatible interpersonal association, I am able to distract myself enough to drown out the continuous taunting coming from across the lot. A tiny part of my brain notices that Tyler, who has retrieved his tonsils from Lauren's maw, has now rejoined the 'Torture Bella' vaudeville act (morning edition) and is quacking in syncopation to Mike's honking.

The other part of my brain is still focused on walking. Left, right, left, right the beat goes until finally, I see the front steps. Chariots of Fire theme music blares inside my head. I haven't tripped and I'm almost there. I mentally high-five myself.

But just like that, the masochistic sense of comfort I get from my Forks morning routine is shattered.

I've always thought that routines, no matter how terrible, are a comfort in on themselves. There is a certain kind of peace and security to be reaped from the reliability of a routine...even, a routine of clichéd-teenage hazing.

This morning's routine, however, the same routine that has swallowed me since my first day at Forks High, 3 weeks ago, is altered.

So focused I was in the act of walking without tripping and avoiding eye contact that could possibly trigger additional honking that I don't notice that today's vaudeville act has changed.

I don't realize that the source of the syncopated bird singing has gotten closer until it's upon me.

I don't see the hands that pull me back by the top strap of my backpack as I'm about to take that first step up.

I just feel myself fall backwards...

I don't hear Lauren snarling "Are you ignoring me bitch?"

I don't hear Jessica jeering "Yeah, like, who do you think you are, like, ignoring us when we talk to you."

I don't hear Mike and Tyler laughing like hyenas.

Or my bag ripping open.

Or my books falling everywhere, my pencil case clattering, my iPod bouncing on the pavement.

Or their footsteps as they walk over my belongings, making sure not to miss the folder labeled 'Homework' that now floats in a puddle. Of course. Thorough as always, they make an effort not to miss stepping on the case holding my glasses. I don't hear the crunch of plastic and paste as an Ugg boot grinds the gray case onto the pavement.

Or the bell ringing and the student body disappearing around me.

I don't hear anything.

The silence that follows is absolute...

That, or the roar in my ears is such that it drowns everything but my internal monologue, which goes something like this:

"Well, this is a change," says my butt.

"I agree," I respond to my butt. A face plant is my usual modus operandi, I note. Though typically, I manage falling on my own without need of Lauren's assistance.

So I sit there.

My now-wet ass tells me that this sucks and that I need to move. My face laughs at my butt and tells it to suck it up and that it is only fair to share the burden of my clumsiness. My butt counters by pointing out that I was doing remarkably well until Lauren decided that she was not inclined to let me climb the steps in peace and assisted gravity (or what others would call she pulled me down). My face reiterates that it is still not fair that I always seem fall forward. My hands second my face's rebuttal. Meanwhile, I can feel a raging blush spread like a brush fire from chest to hairline.

I am well aware that if I just continue to sit here I'm going to have some serious wet panty issues the rest of the day. And not the kind of wet panty issues that are in any way, good wet panty issues. Not that I would know. But still...

Five minutes later, I'm still sitting there. I know for a fact that it's been five minutes because the second bell just rang. So on top of a sore ass and wet panties, water-logged textbooks and soggy, ruined homework, I'm getting detention for being late.

Super.

Yet strangely I don't move. I'm frozen. Like my freezing cold lady bits. Lady bits that are throwing a hissy fit and warning about the dangers of frostbite and the dreaded trench foot syndrome. I correct my lady bits in that technically it wouldn't be considered trench foot, as it would be more of trench Punani syndrome. My face is still going on and on about the injustice of having to carry the brunt of my motor skill issues. My butt has gone from whining to telling me that there is something seriously wrong.

It suddenly strikes me that I'm refereeing an argument between body parts.

In my head.

Behind the curtain of my hair, I start to laugh. It bubbles up as a giggle; a little squeak that escapes my lips. Next thing I know I'm shaking. I'm laughing so hard it is causing ripples in the puddle water I landed on. I laugh and laugh because my thoughts are comedic and they serve as the one thing that tempers the inescapable fact that I am miserable. Humiliated. Pathetic. There is nothing funny about this.

As I'm trying to calm the highly inappropriate giggle-attack, a long-fingered hand comes into view, holding my ripped backpack in front of my face.

I take a look around me and notice that all my belongings have been collected. Looking inside my bag I see my books peaking through the ruined zipper. Even though I don't want to leave the refuge created by my hair, my eyes climb without consent.

I take in the pale fingers holding the backpack, a weathered black leather cuff, the sinuous line of a strong white forearm lightly dusted with tiny, red-gold hairs, square shoulders, strong column neck, razor-edge jaw line, pink lips, proud straight nose, heavy brows, and a riot of shiny, confusing-colored hair exploding everywhere atop his head.

Gorgeous.

I feel the residue giggles die down and my smile melt from my face. This must be the lost Cullen.

The one who is supposed to be my lab partner according to Mr. Banner. The one who is supposed to occupy the fifth chair at the Cullen table during lunch. The one that had been absent for the three weeks I've been in this hell-hole.

Edward.

Looking over his shoulder, I gasp at the harsh pity held in the dark gold irises of his siblings. Everything in me screams that I can't, under any circumstances, meet Edward's eyes. I know instinctively that the pity, his pity for me, would cut me deeper than 1,000 years of Lauren's abuse. It makes no sense as he is a complete and total stranger. Yet, something tells me to escape his pity. For some reason, I can't stand the thought of those eyes, of him, seeing me like this.

I scramble up to my feet, mumble a perfunctory "thank you" as I grab my bag, and run back to my truck.

I fight the lock.

I get in.

I breathe.

I pull my beloved, first-generation iPod out of what's left from my backpack and see that while the screen is cracked it still plays my music. I send a quick prayer of thanks to the gods of music, revelry, and mp3 players. However, the rattling noise made by loose pieces of plastic currently making my glasses' case double as a 'maraca' tells me all I need to know about the condition of my ugly, albeit necessary, glasses. My only pair.

The ones I absolutely need if I am to read anything ever again.

Shit.

I mentally calculate how much money I have left in my "college fund" even though I know it is nowhere enough to pay for a new pair. So I need a plan...

Option 1: I can tell Charlie. Maybe he won't get too mad. Maybe he'll be in a good mood and he'll understand. Maybe he'll even help replace them...and then that would mean that I've somehow crossed over into the Twilight Zone. I sigh. Realistically, there's a greater chance of me being struck by lightning where I stand. Twice. He won't care that I can't read without them. The Charlie-helping option is a no-go (at least not in this dimension).

Option 2: Maybe I can pawn some of Grammy Marie's jewelry, but just the thought of parting with any of it makes me feel like I'm drowning. No way. Can't do it. They are the only things I was able to salvage before things turned to shit back in Phoenix. So, nope…not doing it.

Option 3: Maybe I can ask Cora for an advance on my paycheck at the diner...she's super nice and she likes me. I think. But explaining why I need the cash might be a problem. The venerable Chief Swan would be mighty embarrassed if it were known that his darling baby girl is begging for money around town. This might threaten his Father-of-the-Year award and it would make him mad. Madder. Like he needs an excuse to be mad. Yet, this is the best option out of a bunch of crappy options. I'll have to risk it and ask. If the Chief finds out, I'll deal with that, after. No matter how mad Charlie gets. The thought of him finding out makes my bowels jiggle with anxiety. Yet I have no choice: I'll just deal.

And suddenly I'm so, so tired of dealing and weighing options and being scared and walking on eggshells and my head is so, so heavy I just have to lean forward and rest it against the steering wheel of the truck. My breath hitches. I don't want to, but I feel my eyeballs burn and my blurry sight becomes even blurrier and the world around me goes under water. And finally, I give up and give in to the feeling and cry.

In my head, I ask: why?

Why? Why? Why?

Why can't I get a moments peace? I just want a little bit...not a whole lot.

A little peace.

A tiny bit of happiness.

Why is that too much to ask?

And as I feel myself sink into despair, a voice I don't recognize seeps in and interrupts my internal ranting.

It is low, soothing, and steady:

_You are alright, Isabella._

_I'm here._

For a second, I am concerned that I'm hearing voices because early-onset schizophrenia is no joke and is the last thing I need; especially since I already have plenty of crazy to spread around. But the voice tells me I'm safe and I believe it. I trust it. It makes no sense. But I do.

_Please breathe, Isabella._ It says.

So, I take a hitching breath. And another. And another. I lean into the velvet.

_Open your eyes, Isabella._ It compels.

I have no option but to look up.

Bronze. His hair is not confused-colored; it's bronze.

And finally, I look into his eyes and I recognize the truth in them.

_He_ is all I see.

I know him. Recognize him somehow.

_He_ is all I know.

I feel something pulling from within. A tugging.

It is insistent.

Letting this happen feels vital, life-changing, and transcendent. So, I stop trying to hold onto whatever 'it' is and I let go.

Something inside me unravels and leaves me.

I swear I feel it move like a ribbon in the wind across the space between me and him.

And then I feel as that something comes back to me: reshaped and different. There is just more to _it_ now.

Another piece has joined my 'it' and settled within me.

It's him, I think.

And I feel peace for the first time since I can remember.

I lose track of time and just sit and breathe it, _him_, in and out.

And then I blink and the moment, whatever that was, is over.

My butt crashes my party sending a firestorm of pain up my spine.

Resigned to another ER visit, I turn the key and the truck's engine roars. Then, as I'm about to take off in the direction of Forks General Hospital, I notice the totality of them.

Forks' biggest mystery: A mystery even bigger than Lauren's ability to look completely hoochy-fied every single day before the sun rises.

All five of them. Standing there. Staring at me with those eyes. Yellow eyes in a pearlescent skin canvas. Blond, black, blond, black. And bronze. Bronze.

Graceful. Still. Alien. Perfect.

The Cullens.

Idling waiting for the heater to actually start heating the cab, I see Bronze bring his fist clutching a dark piece of cloth up to his face.

I see his broad chest expand as he inhales.

I watch mesmerized, as his terrible, beautiful eyes flutter closed.

From this distance it should be impossible for me to see how his eyelashes come to rest against his cheeks. But I do.

It should be impossible for me to feel his full-body shudder deep in my belly, as his entire body vibrates in torment and pleasure. And yet I do.

Unbidden, a moan crawls up from somewhere behind my belly button and escapes me. His eyes snap open. Like he heard me, which is impossible. And yet he does.

The moment is like a soap bubble in the sun. It shimmers and floats outside of time; swaying in the wind; settling on the grass softly, gently.

Then the moment is pricked by a blade and ends as swiftly as it started.

It is only later that I realize the only winter hat I own is nowhere to be found. Charlie is going to be pissed enough about the broken glasses and ER bills; there is no chance that I'm asking for money to get another stupid hat. I'll have to sit through yet another Charlie rant about being stupid and clumsy and useless and nothing but a money pit. Besides, even if I had the chance, my excuses won't fly. I mean, how do I explain that I don't have my cheap blue wool hat anymore because Edward Cullen kept it? And that he kept it so he could sniff it in the school parking lot. Ridiculous...

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Dyspraxia**

**"****_Dyspraxia _**_is a motor learning difficulty that can affect planning of movements and co-ordination as a result of brain messages not being accurately transmitted to the body..."_

Closing the medical journal with a sigh, I sank heavily into my office chair. Alice just called confirming her most recent vision regarding Isabella Swan. As predicted, the girl was on her way to my ER with an injury yet-to-be-determined. An injury caused by the Mallory girl and the rest of those…children. The mere thought of Isabella being hurt eradicated centuries of carefully constructed control: I allowed myself a bit of a growl. I felt my chest vibrate and my lips pull back. The sound of the rapid baritone pulsing reined back the anger. I had yet to meet her and I could not help but feel protectively paternal.

The girl was to arrive in minutes and I needed to be in total control. So much depended on my upcoming interactions with Isabella, as I would be the first Cullen she officially met. She needed to be at ease and feel like she could trust me. She had to _like_ me. For that to happen, I needed to be at ease. According to Alice, this was the first step. We didn't know how the relationship between Bella and the family would be forged. Humans instinctively shy away from us and Alice's vision did not show if Bella would be similarly repulsed by us. So, I could not falter.

And while apprehension burned within me, I could only feel relief that this day, this beginning, was upon us. Finally.

This was as close to true exhaustion as I had felt in three centuries.

Knowing what I knew had turned the last month into a marathon of peacekeeping and mental control.

It all started 32 days ago. Thirty. Two. Days. A mere month. I sighed.

It started simply, as most cataclysm do. Four weeks ago, Alice had a vision and it was both, beautiful and terrifying.

On a rare morning when I believed I had the house to myself, she zoomed into my study and without preamble, began talking.

A girl was coming. Charles Swan's daughter. She would have a difficult time both at home and at school. She would be Alice's best friend. She would become a true daughter to Esme and I, and a little sister to Emmett and Jasper. She would be a Cullen. She would become a powerful vampire.

"What? How is that possible, Alice?" I questioned. At this, her bright eyes dimmed.

She responded with a single word "Edward."

This surprised me. Other than Rosalie, Edward would be the last member of my family who would turn a human. Though I knew that Edward had forgiven me for my actions so many years ago, I also knew he was still unable to fully reconcile himself with what he was. He thought himself a monster. Because of this, I knew that something had to go horribly wrong for Edward to be the one to turn Isabella.

"Why did he change her?" I had to ask.

Alice's frustration was palpable. "I don't know! I can't see it. Believe me, I've tried. But there are clues. I think. Like, I don't see a noticeable difference between the Isabella that arrives to town and the Isabella that gets turned."

"So the change occurs soon after her arrival." I speculated.

"Maybe…but maybe not. There is something different in her right before she becomes a vampire." She huffed and narrowed her eyes in the manner indicating she was concentrating; forcing her gift to give her the answers she wanted.

"What do you mean? I thought you said that there was no discernible physical difference, which would indicate that she is changed fairly quickly after she moves in with her father. Girls her age develop fairly dramatically, Alice. Not nearly as dramatically as boys, but noticeably enough for one of our kind to discern," I pressed.

"It's not a physical change. In the vision, the Isabella that arrives is muted and really, really sad. So sad and scared that she's really blurry. I can barely see her. By the end, she is smiling and so beautiful. She's having fun with us…Emmett is carrying her around the house like a football…She's sitting here reading with you…she's hugging Esme…laughing with Jazz…Edward is running through the forest with Isabella on his back…they are so happy…," She drifted off; lost in her sight with a sweet smile on her face.

My joy at hearing that Edward would be happy rapidly ebbed when I processed Alice's jerky stream of consciousness. "Wait. Are you saying we are going to freely interact with her while she's still human? Why would that happen? Why would we expose ourselves?" This terrified me. Any human being privy to our nature meant a death sentence to all involved. My family and Isabella would not be spared. Nobody would.

"I cannot allow this, Alice!" Though I rarely raised my voice, I felt panic gripping like hands around my throat.

In a flash, the littlest vampire was inches from me and matching my tone: "Yes, you can. And you will! You have to, Carlisle. I don't care what you or Rosalie or anybody thinks, including the Volturi and Edward himself! I will see that this comes to pass! Do you hear me?! I don't care…She's going to be my best friend, my only friend. I can't even begin to tell you how horrible things will be for Edward and the rest of us, if we don't get this right—

"But, Alice—

"Carlisle, we have to do this because she is Edward's mate." If Alice could cry tears would be streaming down her face.

As quickly as it built, all sense of panic left me in the wake of Alice's words. My flabbergasted brain kept going back to the word 'mate' in relation to Edward.

Mate.

Edward.

Edward's mate.

"Are you sure, Alice?" I asked in a voice I barely recognized as my own.

A memory of myself as a young lad assaulted me. It sounded like my voice as I asked father permission to continue my apprenticeship as a carpenter in lieu of joining the Church.

"Is Isabella Swan my son's mate? Are you sure?" It was indeed my voice drowning desperately in terror and hope.

When I opened my eyes, I saw in Alice's eyes nothing but complete surety.

"Yes." No room for doubt. "It's the only thing that's 100% solid about the vision. Nothing we do or not do changes that. It is always there. She is always there. With him."

It seemed too incredible, too much to hope for, too many prayers answered in one fell swoop.

Being the single person in a house full of mated couples is not easy.

The perfect happiness of those mated in our family had served to isolate the unmatched individual. I knew Edward was neglected. It was inevitable, as he lived his life as no-one's first priority.

I also was very much aware that Edward harbored profound feelings of abandonment.

I have never regretted finding Esme, but the timing was cruel.

Edward was just barely getting accustomed to this new life and his powerful gift. He was just beginning to find comfort as my companion and my equal when he was pushed back by circumstances into the role of 'son.'

This was a role he did not want. He missed his parents intensely and did not wish for new ones.

Also, to know Edward is to know that he is marvelous contradiction: A young man preternaturally mature, responsible beyond his years but also a shy, sheltered, sensitive adolescent. After his change those traits only intensified. Almost everything in him strives to be taken seriously; a desire that is constantly thwarted by the fact that he looks, and will always look, seventeen. Thus, after being my somewhat equal for a few short years, to be thrust into the role of the child grated at his very nature to the point he was compelled to break free.

As much as Edward proclaims that his rebellious period was precipitated by the burden of his gift and the evil he heard in the thoughts of others, that is simply not accurate. It is a lie born out of kindness. While it has become the official story told to the family, it is nowhere close to being the entire, painful truth.

Edward left because of _me_.

For days before that terrible night in 1927, Edward had been obsessively focused on mastering the appropriate emotional exposition of Rachmaninov's Third Piano Concerto. Though the Russian's works were a favorite of mine, that particular night I wanted nothing but have time alone with Esme. Edward, however, did not want to leave the house. It was raining, he wanted to continue playing, and would not budge.

I begged and cajoled to please "just a few hours, Edward" and I admit, manipulated "I've had too many shifts at the hospital and I haven't had time to spend time with my wife, Edward." But there was no convincing him.

In a huff, I climbed up the stairs to apologize to Esme. All I could think of was how frustrated I was by his very presence and how selfish he was being. In my anger, a half-formed thought breezed through my mind:

_I wish he would just leave us alone. _

And suddenly, the pounding Rachmaninov stopped mid-phrase and the Bӧsendorfer's last notes floated like a final exhalation.

The leather of the piano bench creaked.

And the glossy red, front door slowly opened and quietly clicked shut.

That was the last time we saw or heard from Edward in 3 years.

For days, I stubbornly held on to my rightful indignation and firmly believed that Edward was overreacting. That he needed time away to calm down and see the situation rationally. That he was acting immaturely. That once he calmed down, he would return home. That he was selfish for not thinking of the worry he was causing Esme.

It was only when Esme showed me Edward's wardrobe (of all things) did I recognized the scope of the tragedy unfolding before us.

"Look, Carlisle. Just look. Look at this!" she said, thrusting a grey mass of herringbone wool flannel at me.

Every single pair of trousers Edward owned was stained, ripped, or fraying. Some of his shirts were no more than rags. His vests and waistcoats were missing buttons. His neckties were unraveling. He had tried to mend the rips in his jackets, but at some point he just gave up.

I simply could not comprehend how somebody as fastidious as Edward had gotten to this point. Standing there holding the battered piece cloth awash in Edward's scent, I remembered every single moment over the past two years. And I finally saw.

Esme was finally out of her rough newborn phase. She had not 'slipped' in years, so no emergency moves had been needed. Happily, we had settled with the intent to stay as long as possible. Enjoying the newfound stability of our circumstances, Esme and I gave ourselves to building our lives together; she built us a home and I rededicated myself to my vocation. We gave ourselves to our mate-bond. Wholeheartedly.

What I did not realize was that our need to connect intimately had driven Edward out of the house. For months, Edward had been roaming the nights like a sire-less nomad. Hunting alone. Wandering alone.

It was suddenly clear that I had all but abandoned him.

Edward was always at the house when I arrived home from work; Esme's control was good but we all knew she needed to be accompanied at all times. While I worked, Edward kept her company. His presence was constant yet, I could not remember the last time I had spent any time with him. I understood then that he had been waiting for me, for an acknowledgement, for a scrap of my attention or interest.

And I had only approached him so I could ask him to leave.

That's when I noticed the empty vases everywhere.

From the very beginning, Edward would religiously go into town to buy flowers for Esme. He'd heard in her thoughts that they made her happy and since Esme's control was not yet good enough to go into town herself, he endeavored to do anything in his power to make her new life a happy one. He never allowed a single flower to wilt, refreshing the vases for her almost daily.

"He has not left the house at all during the day for weeks, Carlisle," Esme said after noticing where my eyes rested. "He barely speaks if not prompted. He just sits there at his piano, practicing your favorites, or reading medical journals. And at night he leaves. But he always returns...he is always here in the mornings. Where _is_ he, Carlisle?"

I did not have an answer; only soul-searing guilt: Edward took a stand and fought for my attention and I carelessly broke his heart.

Much later he would confess that he was running angry, displaced, and hurt, when heard the thoughts of a man beating a small boy in an alley. He's said that he remembered nothing until the man was dead and previously amber eyes bore the red stain of his actions.

Edward, as he is wont to do, refused to acknowledge that the powerful combination of his instincts, his talent, and his fragile emotional state combined to make his first human kill inevitable. He was on edge and a mistake was a matter of time.

Instead he rationalized: Why should he allow such horrible things to happen when he had all the tools to stop them? The world would be made a safer place for those of pure thoughts. Why should he continue to follow me? I didn't wish for his company anymore. Why should he continue to resist? He did not want to go back and play the role of the good son to me; especially when I had more than proven he was nothing more than surplus to requirements.

The full weight of the disaster I'd made of our lives crashed down when the reports began to pour in: the dregs of society were being systematically killed by a beautiful, avenging angel who instructed the would-be victims to run home.

_Run_ _home_, he'd said every single time.

A message, if I ever heard one.

So for as much as Edward explains his "rebellion" as an experiment in the traditional vampire diet, the three of us know that he has been protecting me.

It took decades for Edward to grudgingly admit what I knew in my soul: his first kill resulted from a loss of control and not a premeditated rebellion against our lifestyle. In the aftermath, he felt that he would be even less welcomed back.

The truth is that Edward left because in my carelessness I gave him no other choice. When I neglected him, I pushed him into an abyss of terrible decisions that otherwise he would've never had to make.

Since then, I've endeavored to never allow things to get to that point, with varying degrees of success.

I am not blind to the fact that Edward's return to us was an offer for both of us to make things right. Sadly, it also was the first of long series of capitulations on his part: his return meant he was willing to live within the role of the child and as the third wheel. He accepted this lot as penance and because back then, he knew Esme better than I did. Having a child to care for would make her happy and if Esme was happy, it made me so as well.

When I changed Rosalie and quickly thereafter, changed Emmett, Edward silently took yet another step back: the fifth wheel. He bore the brunt of Rosalie's misdirected fury and her wounded pride without complaint. He abandoned his studies every time we had to move due to Emmett's slip-ups. He tolerated Emmett's mocking without truly defending himself. Not that he could; had he tried, Rosalie would have come in defense of her mate and any misstep by Edward would make her even more intolerant of Edward's very presence.

During the first few years of their mating, Edward once again took to leaving the house at night sending Esme into frenzies of despair. I admit the two newest members of our family were insufferable to be around. I shudder just imagining the thoughts Edward was exposed to during that time. Yet, I could not help but beg him not to leave us again.

By the time Alice and Jasper showed up on our doorstep, Edward barely cast a shadow- the seventh wheel. He didn't even bat an eyelash when he arrived from a solo hunting-trip to find all his possessions heaped in a corner of the garage. Alice and Jasper had taken over his room, his only sanctuary, and Edward never said a thing. After the excitement of welcoming two new family members died down, I realized that Edward had quietly created a makeshift room for himself by clearing space for himself in a corner of the dark, musty attic.

I was failing him again. Yet I could do very little to close the ever-widening distance between Edward and the rest of the family.

It is believed that vampires do not change but the assertion is false. It is difficult. Yet it happens if the forces are strong enough.

Time and pressure are the two most powerful forces in the universe. Planets and stars are born and destroyed in time and with pressure. We immortals are not immune.

With time and under the constant pressure of being everything and anything others needed him to be (a son to dote on, a punching bag, a best friend, the little brother to make fun of, the one responsible of keeping all of us safe from discovery, a confidant and confessor) Edward's introversion turned into surliness, his patience into irritability, and his natural warmth and sensitivity into apathy.

And I could not blame him.

Rosalie, however, would often use the many years _I_ spent alone as an excuse to "get on Edward's case" about his dark, melancholy mood. She reasoned that if I was able to spend close to 250 years alone without turning into an "emo-jackass," he could as well.

What Rose chose to ignore was that, for some unknown reason, I never bonded with any coven until I formed my own family.

Aside from my diet, it was the other idiosyncrasy that so intrigued Aro. I was aware that Aro had tried to use Chelsea's gift to artificially coven-bond me to the Volturi, but for whatever reason, his attempts were unsuccessful. He theorized that I was perhaps talented. Though I did remain in Volterra for four decades, my stay was motivated by inquisitiveness and if I'm honest, boredom. I was bored, lonely, and tired of hiding. In Volterra, I found culture and freedom to be amongst my own kind.

However, the constant attacks on my chosen diet and witnessing the never-ending river of human death, soon made yearn for another way of life. And so I moved on.

So unlike Edward, I never had ties that compelled me to endure living in circumstances that were not to my liking. Whether amongst the cruelest (albeit, the most cultured) of vampires royals or perfectly happy couples, when my despair or aloneness became too much to bear, I simply moved on.

Edward, on the other hand, does not have that option. It is true that he could leave us physically. However, the coven-bond would keep him emotionally tethered to the rest of us.

I suspect that there is an extra factor that makes the bonds of our coven unconventionally strong.

Jasper has corroborated that we are all connected together beyond the normal ties that join traditional vampires.

I've theorized that perhaps this phenomenon is a product of our diet.

Biologically this makes sense; our chosen food source is plentiful and competition is low. Therefore, we stay together for reasons other than accumulation of strength and convenience. Not having to compete with each other or with other groups for sustenance, allows for more evolved needs to be driving force in our interactions.

Simply put, we not just superficially interact with the members of our family; we have reclaimed the ability to form deeply complex, emotional relationships. Instead of coming together to control territory, to feed, to survive, we are together because we get emotional satisfaction from the companionship and support of family. Like humans do.

Edward is coven-bonded to us. That means that in many ways he has been stuck between a rock and a hard place for a very long time. It would be insulting to claim I understood the pain that staying with us must cause him and there have been moments where I've contemplated that perhaps leaving would be best for Edward. But memories of that night in 1927 stop me from ever forming the thought.

I am an imperfect creature and selfish enough to not wish to ever part again from my best friend.

Edward's mindreading only compounds the issues. I can only imagine how much difficult it is for him to stay when his gift serves to magnify the isolation and solitude. It is not like Edward can play his music or distract his mind from the happenings around our home. Edward does not have the option to turn his eyes away to block a kiss, an embrace, or other intimate encounters. Even if he physically did, he cannot avoid the thoughts of those kissing, embracing, and loving profoundly.

Thus to have Edward mated, to see him bloom under the love of a mate, to know what it is to share such a passionate…

"Earth-to-Carlisle? Daddy-C? Oh-so-powerful Cullen coven leader? Did you manage to catch a single word I've said in the past 2 minutes and 24 seconds?" Alice peeked at me, smirking at my ability to lose myself inside my head.

"I know you haven't heard a word…yes, I know. It is shocking to hear…I mean, Edward being mated is a pretty big deal…By the way, Emmett is going to lose like, a linear ton of cash to Jazzy, which he is then going to _refuse_ to pay up. They are going to fight and break the _Dufy_ _et_ _Llorens_ _Artigas_ vase Esme lusted for 3 decades until it was auctioned at Christie's last year. She is going to be mad with a capital 'M.' You really don't want to be anywhere near the blast radius of that clusterfluff...you'll inevitably say the wrong thing sending Esme into paroxysms of despair at the male of the species. Unless, that is, you don't want to get "bow-chi-ka-wa-wa" action for a very long time.

"But don't you worry...Emmett won't escape her wrath. Besides it's totally his fault- the big moron foolishly thought Edward was actually going to break your still-standing record of longest vampire virgin-tude …High-five to Esme breaking that streak! It's his problem for not listening to me. Like you are right now. Not listening I mean… Carlisle, you need to close your mouth and talk to me."

My jaw snapped shut with a loud clack. When I finally was able to focus on Alice she was playing with the new electronic aneroid Sphygmomanometer I purchased for the ER; giggling like a maniac when the machine showed both, an error and a Code Blue alert when it could not find her blood pressure.

"Oh…and Bella is Edward's singer."

By then, I was already having such difficulty wrapping my mind about the idea that Isabella was Edward's mate that it took some additional micro-seconds for my mind to process the last words uttered by the vampire seer. But my heart registered their meaning immediately and broke for my Edward.

"Then your vision is wrong, Alice." I had not shed tears in centuries but the disappointment was so profound venom blurred my vision.

"At first I thought so too. But I'm right, alright. I kept getting the same vision over and over. The first one came to me at midnight and then as I started making decisions to determine the best outcome, I had subsequent visions. All developing from the original one. The result from the original vision never deviates, only the path to that result. It's always the same: Bella arrives. Human Bella and Edward in love. Bella powerful vampire," she explained, ticking the steps with three tiny fingers.

"But how can that be? If Isabella is Edward's singer, she cannot be his mate. He won't be able to get close to her without draining her. Not once has a vampire resisted his or her singer. I cannot even imagine the amount of control that would require..." I trailed off.

"He will. Edward will resist. Yes, in all of the visions he struggles with her scent..." she said but her focus had turned inward.

"Alice...what is it?"

"Umm, well we can't tell him...you know...that Bella is…well…his mate. We are going to have to keep that part from him and from the rest of the family too; which is going to suck because Jazzy is like a vampire Fox Mulder when I try to keep things from him and Esme will bat those baby-ochres at you and you, like always, will turn into a blubbering mass of vampire-goo and don't get me started on Emmett and Rose...Ugh! Emmett would tease Edward out of town and Rose would bully Bella into the first plane out of Washington...yes, there is no other option; we are going to have to keep that teeny, tiny, tid-bit of 4-1-1 to ourselves..." She said in a single breath. If Alice were human she would've surely fainted out after such a run-on sentence.

"That doesn't make sense. Shouldn't we tell him that Isabella is his mate in order to initialize the mating bond? Wouldn't the bond between mates protect her?" I questioned.

"No! If Edward gets even an inkling that Bella is his mate before he manages to build his control, he will approach her and be overwhelmed by her scent and then I won't get my best friend, Carlisle...you know how curious _and_ stubborn he is…how much he wants his loneliness to end...he won't be able to help himself and then he won't be able to stop. Bella dies in my vision every single time we decide to tell Edward or the rest of the family about Bella's status as the mate of the 100-years-of-Solitude-vampire." I could hear the unspoken, exasperated 'Duh, Carlisle' at the end of her sentence.

"My apologies, Alice. I'm not trying to be difficult. I'm just having...um, a hard time absorbing all of this," I hesitated. My thoughts were racing with the implications.

By then, Alice had moved on to the male and female reproductive system models on my home office credenza- a gag gift oh-so-thoughtfully provided by my sons for the bicentenary anniversary of my medical practice. However, seeing Alice observing the polyurethane penis at eye level made me swear she was worse than Emmett sometimes. "Which part?" she murmured distractedly fiddling with the pink plastic prostate that would not stay in its proper place.

"The part where…the part that…when you said…Alice! If you please, do put the testicle down." She definitely was as bad as Emmett and Jasper put together. No question. Smirking again, she strutted back to the chairs and unceremoniously plopped down. Alice would be a teenager when she was a thousand. I sighed.

"All of it, Alice. You need to take me through this step-by-step. And then we need to plan accordingly. There is no room for error. We must do everything in our power for what you see to come to pass. And by the way Alice, Emmett, not Jasper, won that bet…if you must know. And before you ask: yes, Esme knows I was not pure as snow on our wedding night…and had not been for nearly two centuries. Now, can we please focus?"

Seeing Alice's astounded expression, I could not help a smile. It was not an everyday occurrence that I could outfox the psychic.

And so Alice explained. Isabella would arrive in Forks with sadness in her eye to live with her father. Alice could not see specifics regarding the events that would precipitate her arrival; only that they were not happy ones.

After much discussion, we decided that it would be in the best interest of Isabella and Edward, to share only "select" portions of the vision with the family. We needed to do whatever was necessary to delay Edward's mating instinct until he had gained control of over the call of his _Cantante_.

During the family meeting Emmett later named "The Swan Summit," Alice shared her edited vision.

A human girl would move to Forks. A singer. The girl only survived if Edward built his resistance and learned to control his instincts. Running would not work; he would come back unable to resist the call. He would stalk the girl and give in to the scent of her blood. Even if we _all_ moved, the same would occur. The only solution was for Edward to incrementally expose himself to the scent in a controlled environment under supervision. All would be well.

Yet, regardless of our reassurances, tempers exploded, furniture was destroyed, and insults flew at the Swan Summit. And that was just Rose. I can't even begin to describe Edward's reaction.

How Alice is, on occasion, able to bypass Edward's gift is a process that will forever elude me. She explained that she showed him only the last part of one of the subsequent 'alternative' visions (which showed Edward killing Bella) as the original vision but she did so without thinking about was the decision that prompted the alternative vision. Not even my vampire brain could understand how she was able to layer her thoughts and visions in such a manner.

My strategy was much simpler; I had enough practice disciplining my thoughts around Edward that I was confident nothing would slip.

Alice had also correctly predicted that the family meeting was going to be so tumultuous that Edward would be overwhelmed by the thoughts swirling around him and that would throw his focus off.

And so it was. He never questioned what Alice showed him.

Right on time, I heard my name being paged to the ER.

Isabella had arrived.

I needed to take care of her. She was so precious to me already and I had not yet had the pleasure of meeting her. She was the carrier of all the potential happiness and fulfillment of Edward's every hope. And on her own merit, she would become a child to Esme and myself, in a way none of my other children could.

The time had come.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own. *Sigh* If I did, I would be posting this while drinking wine and eating my body weight in Brie by the foot of the Eiffel tower.

A/N: So, as a few of you have noted, there are different POVs in this story. I wanted to challenge myself into getting the voices (internal and external voices) of the different characters, just right…It's been a awesome and migraine-inducing. Also, I don't have a Beta, so feel free to point out any screw-ups.

Thanks for the love!

**Chapter 3: Bully Sociology**

There was nothing obvious about her that should incite such a response.

Strike that.

There was nothing about her that should incite such a response _from her own species_.

While she appeared more delicate and fragile than the average 17-year-old human female, she did not possess any of the obvious hallmarks that would make her classmates target her as the 'weakest' of the pack: No observable disabilities, deformities, or handicaps (outside of recurring and somewhat amusing bouts of clumsiness, mouthwatering blushes, need for reading glasses, and dressing in what Alice called tragic 'hobo-but-not-chic' fashions). There was nothing that would make her the obvious prey.

Yet, by the end of her first day at Forks High School the pack of social piranhas had descended upon her and had not given her a moment's peace. If anything, almost a month into her time at Forks High, the situation had continued to deteriorate for the girl. Today's incident, the cruel welcome followed by the escalation into physical violence was proof of that. And if the feelings emanating from Lauren and her cronies were any indication, there was no stopping this.

To be perfectly honest, the feelings that viper put out into the universe made me seriously consider a 'vacation' from vegetarianism.

"Don't even think about it, Jazz…" Alice hissed at me, quickly followed by a muttered "…at least not right this second."

"Darlin' that Mallory girl makes me feel like I'm up to my neck in a pit of rattlesnakes." I pointlessly shuddered to see if I could physically shake off the nasty feelings bombarding me from across the lot.

It would be so easy. I wouldn't even take a sip. I would just go and maybe twist my wrist a little while I was accidentally-on-purpose holding on to the little snake's neck and…

"Jazz…" My second warning.

I sighed resigned to yet another day of gorging myself on the feelings-equivalent to day-old fast food, spunk, and body odor. Teen spirit, anyone?

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward's lips twitch and a short burst of amusement hit me from his direction. It was nice to get something from him. Anything.

Lately, anything other than a constant stream apathy and despair from Edward was as rare as hearing Esme curse (which always involved Emmett is some way, shape, or form). Of course, Edward knew that I knew that he had been diving deeper into a darkness that I didn't care to stare at. It reminded me of what my human and vampire victims felt right before they went.

Without exception, in those last few moments the chaos always receded leaving only a disquiet acceptance: a pseudo-peace, a blank space.

It was not true peace though. More like a breath held where the lungs burn and twitch and spasm. And then they went into the dark.

Edward was holding his breath now and had been doing so for decades.

He obviously hadn't planned anything or Alice would've seen it. And dollars to donuts (or O-neg pints for me), I bet he probably would never plan anything. He would just go into the dark at the first opportunity. The man was bone tired. And he knew that I knew that it was just a matter of time.

But the thing with Edward and I was that we both knew that we knew about each other things that we had no business knowing or interfering with. No matter what Alice said.

And Alice said lots of things. Lately about 10% of anything coming out of her mouth involved something or other about the Fall/Winter New York Fashion Week; the other 90% was all Isabella. At any other time, a ratio in favor of anything _other_ than fashion would be a sure sign that the apocalypse was upon us; but given how vitally important her vision was to all of us, the statistical anomaly was understandable.

Which is why we were all standing here bearing witness as the poor human girl got her morning dose of torture.

I could not help but think that we were contributing to the girl's pain.

It's Psych 101 that bystanders are part and parcel of the problem. Bullies need the presence of bystanders because it creates the illusion that the bully has the support of the entire world. In short, bystanders legitimize the maltreatment. Anybody with eyes on their face could see that Isabella felt threatened all the time by everybody around her. And it is not paranoia if they are really out to get you.

Again, I wondered: what was it about Isabella that made her the prime-choice victim of both humans and vampires?

Did her being a singer to a vampire have anything to do with her also being the prime target for human violence? Is it possible that it was her blood, her genetics, all along? That what made her extra tasty for vampires and super-extra tasty for Edward was the same thing that…uh…called to rat-finks like Lauren and her pack of flying monkeys?

It was certainly an interesting theory. One that I would typically share with Carlisle if I wasn't as sure as the sun rising again tomorrow he wouldn't hem-and-haw and circumvent the subject, like he'd taken to doing with everything regarding Isabella Swan.

Back in '83, while I was doing my second Masters in Psychology not much had been researched or been written about bullying. My knowledge on the subject was limited and the Swan Summit had certainly piqued my scholarly curiosity. But it was more than that.

I felt compelled to do something for this human girl and not only because Alice became more and more miserable the more Isabella got picked and abused on. She had seen that the girl would be her friend. This meant that Isabella would be her first and possibly only girlfriend so long as Edward didn't suck her dry; which I knew he wouldn't. At this point, he was down to barely getting a fiery tickle when Alice would bring him a Bella-scented item (not that he trusted himself or believed me).

I had to admit the girl smelled pretty wonderful; going into her flowery-smelling bedroom during Alice's tri-weekly Bella-laundry raids was a rare treat for me.

And right on cue, that thought alone got me a little growl, an eyebrow lift, and a frown from Edward.

_Deal with it, Edward. You know and I know she smells exceptional. Why do ya think even Emmett is risking Rosalie's wrath to go with us when we break into Chief Swan's house to score the Eau-de-Bella-hit for you, huh? It ain't just 'cause I don't want Alice to suffer through the loss of her best friend and he don't want to listen to Rosalie's bitchin' for the next decade about havin' to move 'cause you drained the girl in the middle of the cafeteria…Cut me some slack, alright?_ I testily thought at him. This earned me a sigh and a resigned nod.

That was no lie; we were keeping the girl alive because it was the right thing to do. But that wasn't _my_ entire truth.

Alice's vision was clear. Isabella would become a vampire in Forks. Nothing we did as a family would stop that from happening.

Which meant that we needed to continue doing what we were doing, so that: (a) Edward would not kill or accidentally turn the girl in the middle of FHS, thus preventing a visit from the Volturi and a war with the La Push dogs (if they were still around); (b) we be able to get close to Isabella and teach her about _our_ vegetarian lifestyle before she drained the entire town, thus preventing a visit from the Volturi and a war with the La Push dogs (if they were still around); and (c) we were around Isabella after her change to _stop_ her from actually draining the town, yadda…yadda…yadda.

However, for me, the Confederate Army major, there was another reason.

The 'official' political and public relations stance in the vampire-world, is that we Cullens are a family (not a coven) and we had no ambitions that went beyond living as close to humanity as possible.

However, the non-PR truth is that from a vampiric perspective we are indeed a very powerful coven. We possessed imposing strategic advantages, as we were an uncommonly large coven with three talented coven members in our ranks. Not that Aro knew about the degree of talent Carlisle had created-slash-attracted, or the loyalty he inspired.

It never hurt to add more, though.

Thus, I was more than a little intrigued by the part of Alice's vision foretelling that Isabella would become a vampire with (and I quote) a "terrifyingly powerful" gift.

So, for my thoughts only (when Edward wasn't around, at least) I added item (d) to the list above: To have powerful Isabella on _our_ side as a "Cullen vampire" before she could become a member of any other coven.

So yes, I was curious…and so I researched everything and anything that would help us establish a good relationship with her. And the results of that research were both, enlightening and disheartening.

While on the surface, chronic bullying may appear to be simply the actions of the bully against the target, on a deeper level, for it to succeed, the bullying-cycle had to include an inadequate response on the part of the target. It was as obvious as the scars all over me that Bella was unable to show to Lauren or the rest of them that she would not be cowed by their taunts. If anything, she seemed accustomed to the mistreatment. I wondered what had happened before her arrival to Forks that had conditioned her to taking such abuse.

All the research showed that in a typical situation, the bullying-cycle included both an act of aggression on the part of a potential bully and a response by a potential target that is perceived as a sign of submission. Once both of these two elements manifested, the bullying cycle fed on itself over time, and lasted for months, years, or even decades.

In short, Isabella would continue to be mistreated until she fought back…or if she gained the support of the bystanders thus eliminating the illusion that the world was against her and in support of the abuse.

I felt terrible for the girl, as I could detect nothing in her emotions that gave me any hope she would have the strength to fight back. There was no fight response in her. At all.

Which was very strange: humans have a pretty darn well-developed sense of self-preservation when they paid any mind to it. Yet, Isabella was like an abused puppy from a puppy mill on her way to a high-kill shelter.

Once again I wondered what the hell Alice was waiting for. We all had heard ad nauseum that Isabella was meant to be Alice's (and I quote) "bestie, sister, and the PB-to-her-J for eternity and beyond." Yet Alice was waiting for some inexplicable reason. Something about Edward having to be 'ready' first.

Ready for what you ask? A deity only knew and I refused ask. I knew better than to question my Alice when she was wearing her Madame Alicia persona.

It was bad enough that every time she said it was up to Edward to make it stop, that he was ready, Edward raged and then sulked and then disappeared into his room for days. Not to mention Rosalie.

Ugh…Rose had more issues on her own than Time Magazine. Add Isabella with her Alice-predicted importance to the mix stealing the Cullen-spotlight away from "Ms. Rochester, New York 1935" and you had one uncomfortable emotional cocktail for me to handle.

Well, at least until Edward did whatever he was supposed to do (in spite of Alice's blocking efforts keeping him from finding out what the hell it was he was supposed to do) there was no stopping this.

So there we stood, guilty bystanders watching Isabella gingerly retreat with a hitch in her step back to the safety of her truck. One did not need to be an empathic, one-hundred and sixty two year-old vampire to grasp the humiliation and resignation the girl left in her wake. And it made me feel guilty, dirty, and complicit.

I hated it.

Suddenly, the need to beat the snot out of my young brother overwhelmed me. Then, just as quickly, I realized that the low, furious growling was Alice's doing and that her fury was feeding my own.

"You have to be the BIGGEST jackass in the history of the universe, Edward Anthony Masen Cullen! How can you just stand there and let my best friend suffer like that?" Alice hissed at Edward.

If Edward knew what was good for him, he would let this one go.

Of course, Edward being Edward did not.

"Alice, for the two-hundred and thirteenth time, I don't care what you have seen. We are not going to be able to get close to Isabella Swan. She is my singer...my _singer_, Alice! Just breathing in the same zip code as me puts her in unimaginable danger. I am pushing the boundaries of my control as it is! Let it be." Stubborn with a side of woe-is-me.

Of course, Alice being Alice didn't have "let it go" in her vocabulary either. "But you're doing fine, Edward…I've seen it!" Petulance served on a bed of indignation.

"She's a human, Alice. Human. Homo sapiens. What do you want me to say? 'Hello, Bella. I'm Edward Cullen and I'm a vampire and soon enough you'll become a bloodsucking monster too. My vampire sister is psychic and she has seen it. Welcome to the family.' I don't need to read her mind to know she'll run screaming. Besides, I can barely be in the same room with her, much less carry a conversation with the child. Believe me! I know you are hiding something from me and I'm at the point where I no longer care what that is…I can't, okay? I know she's important to the family. But I don't know when I'll be ready. If ever. Please drop this." That was delivered as a super-sized combo of lies and self-pity.

See here, the thing about an angry Alice is that she shakes and runs around like an angry Chihuahua and she yaps and yaps and vibrates like an angry Chihuahua so everyone expects a little Chihuahua ankle nip.

Instead, Alice yaps you into distraction. Then she bites you. In the neck.

Like a feral, mistreated Pit Bull.

"Fine! Have it your way! But look at her...just open your eyes...and _see_ her..." Following the direction of Alice's dainty finger we all turned to see Isabella hunched over her steering wheel. Her shoulders rising and falling in time with a sobbed-whispered litany: "...stupid...pathetic...clumsy...no-good...for anybody...always the same."

Suddenly, I felt the girl's pain sharp like grapeshot. The wave of hurt that oozed out from the inside of that rusted red truck was so vast and profound it made my abdominal muscles seize. I just couldn't contain it and it exploded around me. And then, Isabella lifted her eyes to us.

Emmett grumbled something about beating the shit out of Newton and Crowley.

Rosalie hunched her shoulders and minutely crouched at little even as she mumbled something about victims being victims and pathetic cowardliness.

Alice was huffing and puffing about idiotic, self-indulgent, mind-reading know-it-alls.

To my right, Edward merely froze in place.

And just as I was recovering from the hits Isabella was sending my way, I felt Edward's reaction.

His usually muted feelings became a storm of colors and textures and tones: razor-sharp protectiveness, yearning soft like sprouted wheat on a plain, and lust warm like the water on Isle Esme, washed over me...It was soothing and safe and precious.

It was love.

And then I got it.

That bit of information Alice was withholding? It wasn't just that Isabella was going to join our family. It was that Isabella was to join our family as Edward's love.

Everything needed to happen in a particular order.

Edward was the linchpin. We couldn't approach Isabella before Edward figured it out.

He couldn't figure it out if he only saw Isabella as his singer.

He couldn't see past her blood until he could control himself.

And Edward couldn't know that he would love her and then fail.

If he failed and killed her, he would be destroyed.

Such failure would decimate his already tenuous hold on the loneliness.

It would destroy the family.

I understood why Alice insisted that Edward had to learn to control the call of his singer before anything could move forward. I also suspected that Alice was waiting for this precise moment: Edward needed to see beyond his singer, past the blood in Isabella's veins, to be able to recognize his mate. Finally, Alice's vision made sense.

Up to this point, I thought it wise to stay out of the fray. Alice and Edward engaged in battles of will from time to time as two of the most mule-headed people on the planet only can. But enough was enough.

I decided to intervene.

Alice's grip on my hand tightened and her eyes lost focus. After a fraction of a second, she looked up at me with the most beautiful smile. "Yes! Jazzy, go ahead." Alice squealed vibrating like a tuning fork.

_Alice is right. _I thought at Edward._ You are strong enough. You have resisted for 2 weeks now. We don't know what will change her, but time is running out. You are strong enough, Edward._ I could see him minutely shaking his head. So I pressed on.

_She needs us. Look at her Edward. She's suffering and she's alone. _

At the word 'alone,' Edward flinched.

His hand holding the knitted blue hat that had fallen from Isabella's bag clenched.

Without looking, I felt the precise moment when their eyes met for the first time.

The most powerful feeling of wonder blazed through him.

In his chest, I felt his dead heart clench.

_What are you feeling right now, Edward? What is it? _I could barely keep my own excitement at bay.

I had never felt from Edward anything like the tendrils of emotion flowing out of him. I recognized them though.

I had experienced them just once before when I first laid eyes on Alice.

It was like opening my eyes to a new day after a long night of sleep. Like the feeling I got when I was seven and my daddy took me on a trip to Galveston and I saw the ocean for the first time. I felt like an ant, a speck of dust, insignificant like a grain of sand humbled before her.

Next to me, Edward was slowly shaking his head from side to side.

_Stop thinking and feel. Just feel, dammit. _I pressed.

He was pursing his lips into a fine line. Little streams of disbelief and denial were beginning to mix in with the beauty and awe.

_Stop. Just stop being stubborn…there are moments in life that you have to close your eyes and take a running leap at. This is IT. This is one of those moments. What. Are. You. Feeling?_ I screamed my thoughts at him.

After an eternity he murmured: "I'm scared," in a voice so meek I barely recognized it as Edward's.

"I know," I replied just as quietly like talking to a skittish foal. "Just say it and it'll get better…It'll stop being so big, I promise." Come on Edward, get there, I begged the heavens.

"I…uh…I see her...I want to…she's crying…she's hurt…and I want to…but I don't want…to hurt her more…than she is already…I want to hunt down that Mallory girl…and take her head off and offer it as a sacrifice at Isabella's feet…I want to maim the rest of those vile, repulsive, insensitive monsters and I want to stop the rain from making her uncomfortable and the cold from making her shiver I want to make it so that she never cries again never wants for anything again…I want…I want her…I want her with me…I…I love her."

And just like a dam blasting wide open, a magnetic-like pulse of love shot out from the depths of his soul and it was so pure and clear and untainted that I could do nothing but take in as much as I could and bounce it back to my surroundings. For several seconds it felt like we were all standing in the blast radius of a bomb.

As soon as I felt the wave reach Isabella, she began calming down taking deep, even breaths until she was able to stop the rush of tears.

Next to me, Edward was softly murmuring a litany under his breath: "Please, my love, calm down. You are alright, Isabella. I'm here. You're safe now." Over and over.

Suddenly, Isabella murmured something about hearing voices and schizophrenia being "no joke" and arguing with body parts. After one final deep breath she turned the engine of her monster truck. Even though she was in obvious pain, a curiously stout burst of strength blanketed her and she lifted her chin and once again stared directly at us.

At Edward. Softly.

Peacefully returning his love in kind.

Next to me, the control my brother was exerting to hold himself in place and not run towards the rusted red truck threatened to bring me to my knees.

Emmett was staring at Edward with eyes round as saucers, as if Edward had brought white-tailed deer blood to school in a Hello Kitty thermos.

Rosalie looked a bit peaky as if nauseous; disdain and white-hot jealousy pouring out of her every pore.

Alice was so happy that plugging her into the power grid would easily power every major city west of the Mississippi. For a year.

No sooner than the red truck roared out of the parking lot, Alice was on her phone.

"Carlisle, Isabella is on her way….Yes…she was pulled backwards. No she did not hit her head. That skank Lauren Mallory…no…no, I can't see…Carlisle, you'll see her soon enough. You're a smarty; do your doctor-thingy and you'll figure it out, I'm sure. Listen…In the lost-and-found…Yes, I left it there. No, not that. And for God's sake get with it old man. Repeat after me: iPod not Diskman…Yes, of course I'm talking about glasses…uhu…Bella is going to need new ones like we discussed…the one's in the cute purple case that says "Oliver Peoples" have the right prescription lenses. Yeeeessss, those will give her 20/20 vision…Just make her try some others so that she believes they are donated or lost ones…yes…yes…"

Ah, and so the mystery continues to unravel. My little Mary Alice and Dr. Cullen had been very busy bees indeed. I should've known. Carlisle had been acting squirrely, distracted, and unfocused since the Swan Summit. The man had been downright twitchy; which is as un-Carlisle a behavior as there is.

See, when Alice and Edward got together it was obvious that trouble was afoot; too much vampiric fire-power for those two to be up to any good. But as a family, we always tended to underestimate the combination of Carlisle Cullen and Alice Whitlock Cullen; a vampire wielding absolute control over every aspect of his being joining forces with a preternaturally self-assured, hyperactive, psychic pixie with well-intentioned-but-sometimes-manipulative tendencies and no wonder the Volturi felt threatened.

"It just happened. Jasper helped…Edward? Right now? He's just standing there sniffing Bella's hat like a crackhead. And I'm seeing more of Little-Edward...well, actually _not_-so-little-Edward...than I've ever seen or wanted to see before…Eww! Brain-bleach, stat!...anyway…You were saying?... I know, totally! Oh wait! He's right on schedule; he's pinching the bridge of his nose…It was so awesome Carlisle, you should've seen his fa— Hey!"

Quickly swiping the phone from Alice's hand, Edward looked like if he had the ability he would blushing hard enough to rival one of Isabella's epic capillary reactions.

"Carlisle, I…um…yes I'm okay. I think. No, I'm not sure. No, actually, I'm not okay. I...uh…don't know what to…you have to tell me what you and Alice— Carlisle?...Hello?"

"He hung up on me…" he muttered, like we hadn't heard the line go dead.

Edward was peering at the little silver phone like it held the all the secrets of the universe. Though confused, embarrassed (no doubt due to the problem living in his pants right now), and shocked, underneath all that, Edward was as light as I've ever felt him. It was so new and astonishing that the feelings deserved to be shared.

Looking up at me, Edward seemed completely oblivious of Alice's giggling, Emmett's snickering, and Rosalie's scowling.

"Jasper, I think I, uh…mated?" He stuttered his question.

"You certainly did brother. And she with you..."

After a moment of contemplation, the widest smile I've ever seen from him slowly broke on his face.

"I…uh…what do I do? Should I go to the hospital? To be with her? With Isabella?" he asked, saying her name like he was trying it on for size.

"I think you need to go home to Esme, Edward. She would want to know directly from you as soon as possible and you need to hear what she has to say. You also need to hunt before you meet Isabella. So go to talk to the 'momster' and take down a lion or two. Let Dr. Carlisle do his thing today. Tomorrow you introduce yourself to your mate," directed Alice.

"But…but…she needs me. My Isabella…needs me…my mate needs me. I'm stuttering. I never stutter, but…mate. Alice, I have a mate!" he said giddily.

Edward was a grain of sand before the ocean.

"Yes you do! Oh god, I thought I was going to ex-freaking-plode holding it in all these weeks! And I'm going to have a best friend and you are going to be so happy!" Alice squealed as she jumped on Edward's back and proceeded to hug the stuffing out of him. Emmett, not to be left out, picked them both up in a massive hug, dragging a reluctant Rose with him. Alice who hadn't let go of my hand pulled me in.

And because I couldn't contain the collective glee emanating from my siblings, in a mass and tangle of pale arms in the middle of the FHS parking lot, the creepy Cullen siblings were seen giggling maniacally as they shared a public, group hug; a hug that in retelling by the town gossips turned into yet another tale about the weird and incestuous Cullen clan.

But for once we didn't care.

We were closer to complete than ever before.


	4. Chapter 4

Legal mumbo-jumbo: Don't own.

Long A/N: First, this chapter is a monster. Second, as you may have noticed, this story is a slow burn. It picks up, I promise. Yet, the entire point of me writing this little tale was to explore the inner workings of all the principal characters, the history, and how it impacts their present. Otherwise, I would have written something like: Bella walks into biology, Edward looks mad, Edward disappears, then he comes back (and without explanation as to how he got over the bloodlust) ignores Bella for a bit, then is all sugar-nice in class and a creeper in Bella's room that same night…erm, right. That's the story that I don't own.

Thirdly, my Charlie is **not** **nice**. While he is not physically abusive, he is not the quiet-and-gentle-awkwardly-loving father from the books. Why? Well, SM always has him with a beer in his hand. I'm running with that. SM had Bella refuse to return to Forks for summer visits when she turned 14 for reasons unclear. I'm running away with that idea too. SM made Renee a classic Bipolar Type I, in all but in name. I'm taking that too to use for my evil purposes. Proceed with caution. You've been warned.

**Chapter 4: Hyperopia**

_"Farsightedness, or __**hyperopia**__, as it is medically termed, is a vision condition in which distant objects are usually seen clearly, but close ones do not come into proper focus…"_

I am not entirely sure what I was expecting. Alice had said that Isabella was beautiful. Yet, I was not expecting the little, brown-haired girl waiting for me when I moved aside the privacy curtain of emergency bay #3. I needed a second to center myself and took it as a chance to study my son's mate while I was at it.

Symmetrical features, except for a bottom lip fuller than its counterpart. Heart-shaped face, pale skin, with a band of light freckles across a delicate nose, all framed by thick, long brown-hair. She was thin, small-boned, with long coltish legs. Taken separately, her features could be considered unremarkable. Plain. However, all combined made this delicate human girl quite pretty.

"You must be Isabella Swan." I said in way of introduction, but Isabella did not look up or react. "Isabella?" I tried again.

The second time, at the sound of her name, Isabella's head snapped up and immediately met my eyes. Her eyes were large, wide-set, in a somewhat common shade of mahogany brown. What made them astonishing was some indefinable thing that shined brightly behind them. Immediately, I could tell just by looking into her eyes that there was a sharp mind and a kind, gentle spirit within the girl. It was then I understood what Alice meant when she said Isabella was _beautiful_.

"I'm Doctor Cullen." As I took a step forward her pupils dilated, her breathing hitched, and her heart-rate increased; all typical human reactions to a vampire's appearance. "You are Bella, right?" I extended my hand.

"Hi!" she squeaked, cleared her throat, and continued, "Yes. Bella. That's, uh, me. I'm just, urm, Bella." I smiled at her discomfiture.

Suddenly, I felt her small hand grasp mine and squeeze without hesitation.

_That_ was atypical.

She initiated contact when normally humans would ignore my outstretched hand. There was no flinch due to the temperature of my skin and no obvious reaction to the texture and feel. I did not detect any increase in the epinephrine levels in her blood, all signs usually present in humans when they found themselves this close to one of our kind. In fact, her hand lingered in mine until the little line between her brows, relaxed.

Curiouser and curiouser.

As I was filing away her strange reactions, she blurted: "How did you know I prefer Bella?"

"My daughter saw what happened at school. She called and said you looked in pain and that it was possible you needed medical attention. She referred to you as Bella," I explained.

"Your daughter called you about me?" She asked as I took her blood pressure. There was an edge to her tone of voice.

"Yes she did. Alice Cullen. She's a junior. Perhaps you know her?"

"Um, no...I don't know her...I don't know that many people...I'm new. In town. So, no... I know of her though, 'cause everybody knows the Cullens...uh, not that there is anything _to_ know...or there is, but nothing out-of-the-ordinary-to-know knowledge...oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I, uh...she seems...nice?" She rambled and I couldn't help but smile widely at her.

"She _is_ very nice. She's mentioned wanting to meet you since we heard you were moving in with Chief Swan," I reassured as I reclined the gurney to begin my exam.

"She has?" she sounded shocked.

"Yes. She has. My children understand what it is like to be new in this town. How difficult it can be...people can be quite mean-spirited. It's been harder on Alice as she is very social. From what she tells her mother and I, her classmates seem particularly…closed-off to newcomers." I said softly. I wanted her to know that we were aware of the bullying situation without directly addressing it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that...well, Alice always looks so happy." She actually looked contrite. Like she was responsible for the rumors and innuendo about my family she had no doubt heard around town.

"You have nothing to be sorry about." I tried to soothe her. "Alice mentioned that you had a nasty fall at school?" I waited for her to confirm the incident.

"Yeah. I fell down some steps." She looked down and toyed with the frayed sleeve of her damp sweatshirt.

"Alright." I paused not entirely sure how to proceed. "Alice may have also mentioned that certain mean-spirited classmate contributed to your accident, perhaps?" I knew I needed to tread carefully.

"Doesn't that HIPAA law prohibit that sort of thing? You know...umm...sharing patient information?" she huffed and directly met my eyes with a challenge.

"You know the HIPAA statute?" I was impressed by her knowledge and amused at her tone. I also made note of the fact that she was not shying away from my stare.

"I spend a lot of time in hospitals. Enough to become acquainted with my health privacy rights..." her bravery slowly deflated; the challenging tenor almost gone from her voice.

"Well, be assured that I disclosed none of your health information for two reasons. First, because you are right; the law protects your privacy and do my best to stay away from law-breaking activities," I assured. Her eyes dropped to her lap in obvious mortification.

"And the second reason?" She asked quietly.

"The second reason is that even if I was a cunning, criminal mastermind intent on breaking federal law at the first given chance, I had no information to disclose, as you, young lady, were not even in my ER when I spoke with Alice." I smiled at her.

Two bright red spots bloomed on her face and she gave me a small smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply...that well, you know...were telling people stuff...about me. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. It's excellent that you know your rights. What has me a bit concerned is the fact that you frequent emergency rooms enough to know patient information dos-and-don'ts," I questioned gently.

"I'm clumsy. I fall a lot," she mumbled behind a curtain of hair.

Setting down her chart, I rolled the medical stool and sat close to where her legs dangled. "Alright. So where does it hurt?" Even with me being this close, Isabella did not show any signs of apprehension.

"I fell backwards…so…my, urm, my behind area behind there, you know, down by," she said as she waived her hands in the general vicinity of her lower back, "…oh, hell!…my butt hurts, okay?"

By the time she was done, Isabella was blushing so hard the tips of her ears were plum-colored. I imagined this had to be particularly mortifying. In fact, I was a bit mortified myself; I was about to examine the derriere of my son's mate.

"Your tailbone area hurts? Can you tell me how bad the pain is on a scale of one-to-ten? And whether the pain constant or intermittent?" I hoped that my bedside manner would put her at ease.

"Yes, my tailbone. I would say about a six, maybe. It's kind of like a throbbing and it shoots up my back sometimes…My entire back feels sore now. Stiff. It's worse when I sit…Like it's bruised down…there," she ventured a look at me. Her blush was receding a bit as well. Not for long though. I knew that would come back soon enough.

Based on what Alice described about this morning's incident, Bella likely had severely bruised or dislocated her coccyx. I quickly sent a prayer of thanks that Edward was not in the room. As a newly mated vampire, he would not take kindly to another male vampire touching his mate so intimately; he would've ripped my head off the moment I thought my next request.

"Bella? I'm going to leave the room so you can change into this gown. I need to examine your lower back. You may leave your undergarments on. I will send Nurse Nancy in to lend a hand." At the word, undergarments her heart skipped a beat or two and a furious blush blazed up her neck once again.

Nurse Nancy walked in as I was standing. I was glad Nancy was on shift today. A handsome woman closing in on 65 years, she was the only nurse here with whom I felt comfortable. She was the kindest and most professional of the nurses at Forks General; this grandmotherly, no-nonsense woman was just what Bella needed right now.

"Hello, Nancy. I suspect Bella here has a tailbone injury. She may need some help changing into the gown since she's having back spasms. I will need to examine her back so if you could help her lay face down I would appreciate it. I'm just going to call in an order for an x-ray series and will be right back," I instructed.

"Not a problem, Dr. Cullen," she replied smiling kindly without taking her eyes off Bella.

Even standing out in the hallway, I could still hear the paper sheet covering the gurney crinkling as Isabella disrobed.

I distracted myself by mentally reviewing treatment protocols for coccydynia that did not involve the use a 'doughnut' cushion. I could only imagine the torture Bella would be subjected to at school if she was forced to carry and sit on the special orthotic cushion for weeks while her injury healed.

At the same time, I was forcing myself to ignore the sounds of zippers unzipping and shirts being pulled off coming from the room behind me. I simply did not want to have the slightest trace of memory involving the sounds of Isabella changing into a state of near dishabille.

As I approached the nurses' station to place my order to the Radiology department I could clearly hear Nurse Stanley loudly informing the other nurses on shift what sounded like the entire Swan family history. Normally, I would block these sorts of conversations out, but I wanted to gather as much information as possible about the girl. Though the Stanley woman was a heartless gossip-monger, even the most ridiculous rumors always seemed to have a root in truth.

"...She would've graduated the same year as my younger sister, you know. Even back then, Renee was high-strung...always talking about leaving town and going to California and becoming a famous singer something or other. Not that she could actually sing worth a damn. She went nowhere except the back of Charlie Swan's car 'cause we all knew she was hiding a bun under those baggy clothes the summer before her junior year. They married like a week after Charlie's graduation; Renee's father's shotgun was out I'm sure. There is no way in hell that the Charlie Swan wanted to marry her...much less have the kid with the little slut.

"Charlie had been making his way through the rez girls and then bam! There he is with a crazy, teenaged wife and a brat; not that that stopped him from continuing his rounds closer to town, if you know what I mean..." she trailed off and cackled like a hyena.

"You?!" Lucy, the candy-stripper, shrieked.

"Once or twice, but then Tim proposed and Renee had the baby and went crazy. Like bat-shit insane—

"Oh! I remember hearing about that from Joannie," Nurse Gerber gleefully interrupted, "remember her? She was a cashier at the Thriftway back then. So, this one day, Renee comes in looking like she hadn't taken a shower or slept in weeks with the baby shrieking up a storm. She was mumbling and acting crazy saying that the baby wipes were poisoning the baby and asking for a refund or something...Started screaming and refused to leave the store. Joannie had to call Chief Thompson, 'cause nobody could find Charlie—

"Of course nobody could find him! Nobody called Sue Clearwater and asked her to kick Charlie out of her bed so he could pick up his wife from jail," Nurse Stanley interrupted, sounding miffed that she had lost her audience. "Anyway, I heard that Renee was walking around like a zombie for weeks after that, but at least her antics stopped."

"What do you think happened?" Lucy asked.

"Don't care and don't want to know. Whatever it was, I'm sure it was well-deserved," Stanley chuckled. Standing partially hidden by a wall, I could barely stomach the obvious enjoyment she got from disclosing these horrible facts.

Completely unaware of my presence she gleefully continued, "Anyway, one day Ms. Goody-two-shoes, Lisa Webber, showed up at Swan house to check on loony Renee 'cause she never showed for a play date or something. She found the front door of the house wide open and the baby was alone. The place was a sty. No sign of Renee. Charlie was up in Sequim for some police training. Lisa had no choice but to take the baby home with her. Few days later, Renee shows up at the Webber's to pick up the kid like nothing had happened. Like leaving a 6-month-old baby alone in a playpen is normal. After that Renee would not leave the house at all. Then about a year later, Renee was gone for good. Baby and all."

"And now the baby is back," Nurse Gerber supplied. "Why do you think?"

Nurse Stanley shrugged and made a face. "God knows. Renee probably disappeared again...My Jessica says that girl is weird though. She was all over Jessie's boy at first; but Mike Newton is a good kid and put the Swan girl in her place. Now she talks to nobody. She's always falling down injuring herself, wearing those ratty clothes. Crazy, I tell you, which if you ask me, it's to be expected. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree and with a mother like hers..." Nurse Stanley trailed off with a sneer.

As I was about to let my presence be known, I sensed Nurse Nancy approach behind me.

"We are ready for you, Dr. Cullen," Nancy addressed me. Yet, her eyes were glaring at the huddle of gossips.

All three jumped and stared wide-eyed at me.

"Oh! Dr. Cullen. We didn't see you there. Is there anything I can help you with?" Nurse Stanley had the gall to simper at me.

Normally, I would remain nonchalant about situations like this one.

It was better to avoid calling attention to myself and my family. However, after what felt like an eternity of listening to the vitriol spouted by this malicious harpy, all diplomacy escaped me.

"I'm not surprised you did not notice me, Nurse Stanley. It seems that certain subjects of conversation take precedence to actual work and patient care when _you_ are on shift." I snapped.

"I, uh...I...don't know what you mean, Dr. Cullen." She replied insipidly.

"Of course you don't know. You seem to know very little of import," I retorted failing to hold my temper in check. "Would it be too much trouble for you to call Radiology and request a full spinal series, to be taken both standing and sitting, for my patient? That is, if placing my order will not cut into your social hour?" I finished and directed the full weight of my vampire glare at her. I knew I had to control my anger: I could feel the continuous, subsonic vibrations of the growl rumbling through my chest and was fully aware that my eyes were pitch-black.

"I...I...of course, I'll call them..." she stuttered yet made no motion to actually call.

"_Now_ would be a good time to do so, Nurse Stanley. I would hate to have a discussion with Dr. Snow about the obvious overstaffing issues we seem to having. Perhaps some cuts are in order..." I let the threat linger and briskly turned to face Nurse Nancy. I took a deep unnecessary breath to calm myself and smiled at the gentle, gray-haired nurse.

"Sorry about that," I sheepishly apologized as we walked back to curtain #3.

"Nothing to be sorry about. I've wanted to do that myself once or twice. You were much kinder than I would've been." She grinned at me. However, her smile did not linger and just as we were about to enter the exam area she stopped and turned towards me. In a rushed whisper, she said. "Before we go in there...there are some bruises, Dr. Cullen. Relatively new ones by the look of them on the upper arms and her right flank..." A visible shudder ran through her.

I froze in shock.

Alice had said that Isabella was going to have a difficult time at school and at home, but I don't believe any of us imagined this was a possibility.

Of course we all were aware of Charlie Swan's taciturn and gruff demeanor. There were rumors of overly rough arrests and unfair traffic stops. Not to mention, the sotto-voce secrets kept by the townspeople about the Chief's heavy drinking. Everybody knew that he was careful; never in town where he could be seen and mostly taking place during his often-unlicensed, fishing trips with his boyhood friend William Black.

We Cullens knew _all_ about Mr. Black.

When we first moved back to the area we met with the Quileute elders to renew the terms of the treaty. The putative leader of the Quillayute nation contributed nothing to the meeting except drunken ramblings about bloodsucking leeches. Edward confirmed that the man's thought-process was severely impaired; a constant diatribe of hate in English mixed in with some approximation to the Quileute's unique Chimakuan language.

It goes without saying that we all (including Elders Clearwater and Ateara) ignored the man and proceeded as though the intoxicated man was not having a one-sided, furious argument with a silent, smirking Emmett. More importantly, the Quileutes had been extremely late to the meeting because William Black had been fishing that day. All day. _With_ Charles Swan.

I doubted William Black imbued alone.

So yes, we suspected that Chief Swan had a temper and enjoyed his drink.

This was the first time however, that any hint of a domestic abusive nature had been ascribed to the man. As angry as Nurse Stanley's account of the Swan's past had made me, I could not help but wonder if she had been correct even in part. What if Chief Swan had moved on from "zombie Renee" to Isabella? What if I was about to see the evidence first hand? Evidence forced upon the delicate skin of a girl I had come to care for so profoundly so quickly?

Turning to Nancy, I said, "Stay in the room but out of Bella's sightline. If the 'discolorations' are the result of an intentional act, she will likely deny it first and then lie to protect whoever put them there. That is typical. She seems to be very shy, so the less of an audience she feels she has the better the chance she will open up. Do you agree?"

"That sounds like a reasonable plan, Dr. Cullen, but...um, I know it's not my place..." she hesitated.

"Any suggestion would be of service, Nancy. I value your opinion and instincts greatly. Go ahead," I prompted.

"Ms. Bella is smart, hard-working, and kind. Did you know she's a waitress at Cora's?" She asked after a pause.

I shook my head and replied, "I did not know that," slightly confused as to how Isabella's employment was connected to the bruises on her arms.

"Well she is; a little clumsy but a good waitress. Treats every guest as if that diner was a fancy five-star restaurant. I'm not much of a cook so me and my Dan spend more than our fair share of meals there. The hubby only wants to sit in Ms. Bella's section. Says that he wants Bella to be his server and if she's busy he waits until one of her tables opens up. Not that waiting makes a bit of difference on the amount of time he spends there every day anyway.

"So we've observed Bella and well, people and by people, I mean her classmates, don't treat Bella right at all. Dan's seen it more than I have, of course. Downright cruel, he said. They come in and sit at her tables and act like brats; complaining about the food, spilling drinks on purpose, leaving without tipping..." When she looked at me, she could tell that I was following but unsure.

"I suspected as much. My daughter Alice, called me earlier as you heard, I'm sure," She nodded and I continued. "She saw Lauren Mallory pull Bella down the school steps causing her to fall."

"Doesn't surprise me...Dan has never seen her defend herself, or assert herself in any way. Dr. Cullen, what I'm trying to say is that Bella won't come out and tell you that her no-good, drunk-of-a-daddy got mad and pushed her around...at least not today. In fact, I betcha anything that if you ask her she's gonna clam up tighter than a virgin's ass cheeks. Pardon my French..."

I slightly relaxed by her use of the colorful expressions. "I have five teenagers at home. I've heard worse. Please continue."

"I'm sure you have...anyway, ask her if the bruises hurt, how she got them, and make whatever note you need to make on her chart. I know that by law you have a responsibility to report suspected abuse, but forcing her into that spot is not what she needs right now. That's 'cause that poor girl is as alone as alone gets...and I know this from personal experience. Before meeting Danny...well, I made some real bad decisions. I ended up with the wrong person...It's the loneliness that breeds the silence, you know?" At this point, the no-nonsense veneer was completely gone from my dear colleague's face.

Nancy's eyes held a vulnerability that I was all too familiar with. I saw the same look in Esme's eyes for decades and even to this day on occasion. I placed my hand on her forearm as a show of support. Feeling the contact, Nancy took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked straight into my eyes.

"What she needs are friends...a support system of people to trust. Only then will she tell you...maybe. Just so you know, this is the first time I've seen that girl relax. Even as embarrassed as she was, she seemed more comfortable with you than anybody else I've seen…including me," she remarked with amazement coloring her words. Her astute observations warmed my heart with the hope that maybe this remarkable human girl was somehow specially equipped to accept a vampire mate and integrate into a family of vampires.

"...and maybe your kids will have the same effect on that girl. So if what you said about your girl Alice wanting to be Bella's friend is true, then make the offer and make it happen. Is that clear?" Tough Nurse Nancy was back.

"Crystal," I smirked. As Nancy turned on her heel and briskly walked into the exam area, I made the decision to follow her advice. Almost instantly my cell beeped.

**Nancy s rite. **

**qwestionin Isabella now = totes fail.**

**Yay! New BFF 4 me! Squee! **

**xoxo**

**-A**

After deciphering Alice's text-speak (and mourning the slow, painful death of the English language) I turned towards curtain #3.

* * *

Ugh! When I just getting comfortable with what I thought was my personal rock-bottom, I found myself face down on a gurney with my broken ass hanging out about to be examined by the hottest, nicest, most beautiful doctor in the history of the universe. No question.

Well my ass wasn't literally hanging out, as I was wearing undies. Boyshorts that said 'Tuesday' across my tush, which in it of itself was mildly embarrassing because today was actually a Monday.

I pressed my face against the lumpy pillow and clenched my eyes shut.

I was so, so tired. My fingers were twitching with the desire to jump up, run to the Beast, and take off into the sunset.

I would just go. Going and going and going past the stupid school, past the silent clapboard house with the peeling siding, past the stupid reservation...crap, no! If I went that way I would end up at the bottom of the Pacific.

South, then. California, sandy beaches, sun-warmed skin, fish tacos, the brown desert. Nope...not that either! That was part of the Renee zone (also known as the "crazy zone"). Double crap!

North? Nah! Too cold.

East? Meh.

I sighed frustrated. There was no way out. Besides if I gave in to the impulse to jump up and run away, I would most likely end up tripping and falling and injuring something else.

I sighed again and ordered my brain to take control of my twitchy fingers and bitch-slap my amygdala into submission. I was uncoordinated enough as it was; I didn't need poor impulse control and stupid fight-or-flight responses to contend with right now. Not to mention I still felt...weird after that...whatever the hell that was, that took place between me and Bronze.

Besides, I was pretty sure that running in any direction that took me away from Edward would be impossible. Just thinking about him made my insides go crazy.

Stop it, stupid brain!

I needed to relax.

So I concentrated on the memory of his voice and it came back clear as day: _You are alright, Isabella. I'm here_.

Neurological bitch-slapping was apparently effective because I soon felt myself relax into the pillow. Deeper and deeper. Replaying the sounds and the syllables and the pitch and the tone of the voice.

His voice. _You are alright, Isabella._

Diving deeper and deeper into the dark calm of our connection. _I'm here._

Then, the dark turned into bronze turned into topaz.

This place created by his voice was safe.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

…

Suddenly, the quiet place faded and I was running through the greenest forest I had ever seen. Fast. Really, really fast. And laughing. I felt somebody running next to me and laughing with me.

Jumping over rocks and rivers. The wind whipping my hair.

I saw and smelled the musk of animal ahead.

Heard the pounding of heartbeats.

Flying through the air. Landing.

The crunch of bones beneath and the feel of the ruddy pelt in my hands.

Hot, hot, thick magma liquid running down my throat. Hot soothing the even hotter burn.

Then just as quickly the forest faded and I was in front of a fireplace in a small, cozy room with walls and walls of bookcases filled to brim with movies and music and books.

Outside the window was the same green forest from the deer chase.

I could feel the heat of the flames on my face and his skin against my back.

He had his face buried in my neck, placing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. His contented purring soothed me.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see his crazy, confused, red-brown hair.

His pale arms were wrapped tight around me and a long-fingered hand was rhythmically squeezing my brea—

…

Wait a second!

Deer chase? His pale arms? His skin? Purring?

Red-brown?!

It couldn't be. Could it?

No, no, no. No!

But there was no denying it. I'd only seen that wacky shade of hair just once before. Once.

On Edward "the Bronze" Cullen.

Oh hell, this was bad, Bella Marie, really bad.

The sound of the doors opening briefly interrupted my internal rant.

I mentally slapped myself one last time for perving on the good Doctor's son not 25-feet away from where the blond man was standing.

I tried to emotionally prepare for the humiliation to follow since it was now obvious that my chronologically inaccurate panties where hiding more than just my sad, broken butt.

This degree of mortification surely was fatal, right?

Somebody should press the Code Blue alert button, right?

This was why I ignored whoever I heard moving around the room.

I somehow just knew that it was Nurse Nancy because Dr. Cullen moved like a freaking ninja. You blinked and he was suddenly there where seconds before had been nothing but empty space. Like when he first introduced himself; one second I was alone, the next he was there calling me Bella.

I was sure he was part-Jedi...or something. I didn't want to come out of my little burrow on the lumpy pillow and face the man. Those yellow eyes would surely detect the totally inappropriate daydream I just had about his beautiful, mysterious son.

Edward.

Re-clenching my eyes shut, I sank back into the dark.

Dark like the bruises on my arms.

I knew that Nurse Nancy had seen them but she didn't press me for answers. It was surprising because the ones on my arms were clearly finger marks. Charlie-sized finger marks.

She took one look at the blue-black marks on my arms and ribs and said nothing. Her expression did not change.

Yet, there was something in her eyes...almost like she knew. Not from seeing similar bruises as part of her job, but like she knew how marks like that looked on her own skin.

Her husband came into the diner almost every day. Mr. Fletcher always asked to sit in my section and would always leave me ridiculous tips. At first, I was embarrassed. I mean, he was just sitting there drinking coffee and talking about whatever newspaper article he happened to be reading, but he said that I was good company. I couldn't believe Mr. Dan would do that to his wife. Then again, from the outside it would be easy to believe that poor Chief Swan was a saint for letting me come live with him after evil Renee cruelly took me away and I 'ignored' him for years.

The thing about gossip is that it is all about extremes. And extremes are easy.

Reality is hard because it's messy. It cannot be neatly boxed into compact, sensationalist short stories to be whispered during smoke breaks and lunch times.

Reality and truth are messy because they force us to look at the entire picture.

So, the truth about my "family" (such as it was) is, like all truths, somewhere in between. Contrary to popular gossip: Charlie is not a saint and he's not evil; he's just an asshole. And Renee is not child-abducting devil or Charlie's victim; she's a certifiable nut job.

From the very beginning, that combination was explosive and no-good for anybody.

But not even individually can my parents be considered stellar human beings...in fact, they are not even what one would call _good_ or _nice_ people.

Renee is selfish. Whether her selfishness results from her crazy, or it's always there but the crazy makes it worse, it does not matter. What matters is that she stops taking her meds because she's "finally well, baby" and the lunatic cycle of happy-to-mania/voices-in-her-head/depression/running-away starts and restarts without end.

Charlie is a drunk. Whether he is dark and scary because he drinks, or his natural darkness and scariness gets worse because of the drinking, it does not matter. What matters is that Charlie at some point loved Renee, but reality jumped into their high school fairy tale and took a dump all over it. When Renee took off with me, Charlie minded for a little bit, and then he didn't really mind too much. A part of me didn't completely blame him. By the time, Renee resurfaced with her claims for child support I already was a 7 years old girl he had no emotional connection to; a quiet, scared, skinny stranger that invaded his dark, creepy house every summer. He tolerated my yearly visits by disappearing from sun-up to sundown; to work or to fish, it didn't matter. I put a stop to the stupid court-mandated visits when I turned 14. Being alone in my room in Forks was the same as being in alone in a random room in Phoenix/Los Angeles/wherever-Renee-landed-us.

The years past had not improved either of them very much…not at all, actually.

So, I'm not making excuses for either of them.

That was the hardest part about dealing with Renee. Since I could remember, I would cover for her, protect, and take care of her. Renee was sick and she had nobody else. Then, one day I just couldn't do it anymore. And true to form, when things got tough for her, she chose to leave me behind. Again.

In comparison, Charlie's only problem with me was that he _really_ liked his Vitamin R and simply didn't want me around. But he had a house and paid his bills; even a semblance of stability is better than the alternative.

In exchange for such a precious gift, I tried to be helpful by taking over dinner and laundry duty. This was a total fail. Talk about backfire.

The reality of my bruises is this:

Charlie did not appreciate me washing his skivvies. Well…to be precise, he didn't appreciate me using his detergent to wash my clothes or me washing his skivvies on a _Tuesday_.

Yep, that's right. Charlie Swan does not abide laundry on any other day other than Thursdays. I think this is because any deviation screws up his lucky-fishing-shirt-wearing schedule; but that is just _my_ theory.

Last Tuesday I was unaware of this fact. Thus, I used Chief Swan's property _and_ consequently 'destroyed' his routine. What is a man going to do on a Thursday if he has no laundry to do, right?

Anyway, he got home and found me folding his towels. I was listening to some music with my headphones on and did not hear him behind me. Next thing I know, Charles Swan is a foot away, scowl in his face, beer in his breath, and asking what the hell I was doing.

Startled, I jumped about a three feet in the air and landed rather ungracefully against the mudroom shelving and collapsed into an ungainly pile.

He pulled me up by the arms and said to get the fuck out.

So, I gathered my sore, startled self, and went up to my room. I finished folding my stuff after he went to bed.

And that was that.

Like I said, messy.

Now, I buy my own detergent and do laundry any day but on a Thursday.

I also went the extra mile and I now keep my own groceries in a plastic bin in my room.

I got lucky and found an awesome deal on Craig's List: a Peninsula Community College student was moving out of the dorms and wanted to get rid of the mini-fridge he used for beer and other college essentials. So for 20 bucks and the cost of traveling to and from to Port Angeles, I now have a place to keep fresh food in my room. It was a relief; only eating stuff that comes from a can or a box gets tired quickly.

Long-story short, I avoided Charlie; which in some ways is less work than trying to wrangle Renee with her chemical imbalance and the ever-constant parade creeper-flavor-of-the-week boyfriends. In Forks, peace was maintained simply by making sure that I: (a) wasn't around when Charlie got home from fishing, (b) wasn't around when Charlie got home from work, and (c) make myself scarce in a general sense (like when Charlie was somewhere in the same zip-code).

Et voila: I hadn't had a problem with Charlie since.

And even though, I _knew_ Charlie did not want me here, the deal was that because I was now living _with_ him, the government would stop garnishing a portion of his salary for child support payments he was obligated to send Renee. So that bought me some time. I just had to hang on 'till the spring and summer, turn eighteen, and hope that Chief Swan was cool with our arrangement until I graduated high school. If he wanted me out come next September 13, I would worry about that then.

This all sounds terrible, I'm sure; but like I said, reality is messy.

So, nope. Dr. Obi Wan Cullen could ask all he wanted but I didn't have to say anything about the bruises.

Charlie, while vaguely threatening and mucho grouchy, had not laid a hand on me besides grabbing me a bit too hard by the arms when he picked me up from the ground. So no matter how damn uncomfortable I was in the house I slept in, and no matter how irrationally safe I felt with Dr. Cullen or how much I liked Nurse Nancy Fletcher, I was not making a big stink out of the bruises.

So there. Decision made, I snuggled deeper into the pillow.

"Okay, Bella I'm going to examine your back now."

Gah! Oh holy mother-of-shuriken-wielding-part-time-Jedi doctors! One second I was making firm resolutions and the next, Dr. Cullen materialized right next to me doing his doctor-talky-thingy about exams and what not. I jerked like I was zapped with a cattle prod.

He must have a teleporter.

How did he _move_ like that?

"How do you move like that?!" Okay, so my inside voice and outside voice merged at some point without my authorization.

I groaned.

Dr. Cullen was probably trying to determine how much time it would take to bring in a psych consult to deal with my brand of zany.

Instead, when I turned my head and looked at him his mouth just opened and closed. He looked confounded; as if he were trying to solve the Reimann hypothesis or explain the meaning of life. After a moment, all signs of indecision and doubt left his expression and he asked, "Move like what?"

Okay, I was expecting dismissal of my question not for him to follow me down the crazy trail. So now it was _my_ turn to gape like a fish. My brain was trying to determine if I should be honest and let a little of the real Bella show or if he shouldn't be trusted like all the other people in my life.

Then I realized that there was no decision to make. It was fait accompli.

I already trusted Dr. Cullen. The same way I felt comforted when I was having my meltdown this morning and saw the Cullen kids standing there looking back at me. Or how the whatever-the-hell-that-was that went on between me and Bronze. There was no logical reason why I already trusted him or his children. Yet I did.

"You move like a shuriken-wielding-part-time-Jedi…or like Brad Pitt." Okay. So my inside voice and my outside voice merger completely system-crashed the critical-thinking portion of my brain. Surely, I could've phrased my thoughts more elegantly.

"I'm not a ninja or a Jedi, I assure you. I do own one of the light-saber props used during the filming of the Empire Strikes Back. And my son Edward owns a 13th century samurai katana though. Does that count?" He replied...the cheeky bastard.

He acted like my totally gauche, semi-incoherent, verbal-diarrhea attack was completely normal. Huh?

Not to mention that my body once again betrayed me; my insides going all gooey at sound of Bronze's name. And once again, cue the blush. Stupid capillary reactions!

Thank you baby Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and Forks General Hospital for kindly providing this fantabulous face-hiding pillow.

"I'm going to examine your back; let me know when if any spot hurts, okay?"

His gloved hands gently pressed and manipulated my neck. While the latex did nothing to mask the cool temperature of his fingers, the sensation wasn't uncomfortable.

I noticed that he ignored the Brad Pitt portion of my verbal spew-age.

"Nancy, please go retrieve a wheelchair for Ms. Swan. We need to get her to Radiology after I'm done here." He instructed softly.

I heard Nurse Nancy walk out of the room.

"Now, don't make that face. An x-ray of the area will help determine if you dislocated or fractured your tailbone." He explained. I wondered if he had x-ray vision because I was totally making faces against the pillow.

"So what was that about Brad Pitt?" His voice sounded strange; hesitant and unsure for some reason.

Okay, so he didn't ignore it.

Something told me he was waiting until Nancy was out of hearing range.

"Huh? Oh, you know Brad Pitt was in that movie with Tom Cruise back when he was not jumping on Oprah's couch and acting crazy...uh, the vampire interview one..." At the word 'vampire,' his hands stilled on my back and could tell that he wasn't breathing. In fact, if it were not for the fact that I could see the top of his shiny, black leather oxfords, I would've thought Dr. Cullen (once again) teleported out of the room.

It struck me that I had insulted him. That maybe he and his family all suffered from some disease or something that made them all pale, cold, and gorgeous...like, well, a vampire.

Shit, I just called the one person that has been nice to me since forever a bloodsucking, undead creature of the night.

Fix it now, Bella Swan. Fix-it.

"Uh...well, the characters moved like you, or you move like the characters...uh...you know, silently...and you said that you were not a ninja or a Jedi...I can feel your hands and Nancy can see you too, so that puts the kibosh on the ghost theory…and your hands are a bit cold, though that proves nothing, but still; which...leaves only, um, vampirism as the simplest explanation no matter how improbable, you know? Occam's razor and all that... uh...unless, you own a teleportation device..." Crap. That sounded much less retarded in my head. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

After an eternity, he finally broke the silence. "That's sound reasoning. You believe in vampires, then?"

Say what?

He is in _accord_ with my crazy?

Why in the world would he be?

Unless…

It's not crazy...

Okay...

Focus, Bella Swan. You must be onto something here.

Let's review the evidence, shall we?

Exhibit A: Adopted kids that look related with weird, beautiful eyes, pale skin, and overall perfect appearance.

Exhibit B: The good Doc ninja-slinked, had Slurpee-cold hands, and spoke like Mr. Darcy trying to assimilate the Urban Dictionary into everyday convos…okay, maybe not _the_ Urban Dictionary exactly; more like about two centuries worth of slang and linguistic development.

Exhibit C: All their names were old-fashioned. Not the "old-skool" resulting from the current, highly-annoying hipster fad to dub kids fake-traditional names like Jackson or Olivia...theirs felt like real old school. A tiny step removed from Mildred or Theodore.

Exhibit D: They always skipped class on sunny days. Bitchessica Stanley was, well, bitching about how lucky the Cullen kids were that their parents happened to be such tree-hugging weirdos and took them camping on sunny days (yeah, that grand total of 7 days per year…).

Exhibit E: They didn't eat. I am privy to this for three reasons: One, my status as FHS' social pariah afforded me luxuries like exclusive occupancy of the highly coveted table right next to the disgusting cafeteria trash can. Two, until I got the job at the diner I didn't have lunch money. So like the masochist I am, I spent many a lunch hour studying the large amounts of perfectly good, semi-edible food people threw away on a daily basis. The Cullen trays were always full of untouched cafeteria slop. Three, I may or may have not been slightly obsessed with the Cullens, and thus, I may spent the last 3 weeks watching them not actually put any food in their mouths.

And last but not least, esteemed members of the Jury…exhibit F: Last Sunday I overheard that asshat Billy Black while he was dropping off an equally hammered Charlie after a day of 'communing with nature.' It so happens that the Black-hole was having trouble with his diabetes (durr...it kind of happens when you are a raging alcoholic, Einstein) yet refused to go to the outpatient clinic at Forks General Hospital because the "bloodsucking leech" worked there.

So…

What if the 'Brad Pitt Theory' is not crazy?

What if it's real?

...

Why should it matter?

So maybe Dr. Cullen ordered take-out from the blood bank or whatever. Or they went outside of Forks for 'din din.' It's not their fault they are the true apex predators. I eat cows, and baby cows, and pigs, and chicken, and baby chickens, and fish.

I mean, vampires were people too...at some point...right?

And he had kept his incisors to himself.

The doctor had been kind; more than kind. Much kinder than most people in my crappy life.

So, no it didn't matter what the Cullens were.

So there!

Then it dawned on me that Dr. Cullen was still waiting for me to respond.

So I did.

"Well, uh, as a general rule I try to be open-minded. Just because I can't produce proof of something doesn't mean it doesn't exist." I concluded. I had proof though.

"A matter of faith, then." Dr. Cullen stated and it wasn't a question.

"Yes. And trust..." I responded somehow knowing that we weren't just talking about my purported theoretical belief in the supernatural.

I lifted my head and met his wise, strange, owl-eyes.

All of the evidence in my head was confirmed by his eyes.

I felt the knowledge sink down into the marrow of my bones. It was transformative; like it was somehow altering me from within, absorbed by my DNA, and changing my world. A world, that ten minutes ago was ugly, oppressive, and claustrophobic was now wide-open with possibilities. Suddenly, the 'whatever-the-hell-that-was' encounter with Edward Cullen, clicked into place: I was well on my way to loving him, even if I couldn't begin to understand the reasons why. And I knew for certain that I would love the rest of the Cullens.

Dr. Cullen smiled.

And I smiled in return and sank onto my pillow.

It was not strange when he placed a protective, caring hand on my head.

I didn't know how the gesture was recognizable to me since I'd never been cared for like that before. It was loving and paternal.

A part of me that was withered and moribund roared back to life and basked in the moment.

He removed his hand and tenderly smoothed down my hair just seconds before the doors opened and Nancy came in pushing the dreaded wheelchair; it was as if Dr. Cullen had heard her coming.

No.

Not 'as if.'

He _had_ heard her coming.

"Your chariot, Ms. Bella," Nurse Nancy announced and parked the odious thing in the corner.

"Gravity hates me." I groaned. Pity party for one.

"Well it could very well be that, or perhaps gravity was assisted by some of your classmates." Dr. Cullen prodded again. I thought he'd forgotten about that little detail.

"You already said that." I retorted, slightly annoyed. I did not want to even think about my classmates, much less talk about them. The mere thought of this morning's events, was messing up my "high-on-my-new-supernatural-friend" high. Not to mention the fact that I was pretty sure I had just fallen in love at first sight with a boy I didn't know, had never spoken to, and was a deadly, mythical creature. My heart clenched happily.

Returning to Earth, I realized how sore I was all over as Dr. Cullen continued to carefully manipulate my back. My newly-acquired, slutastic inner-Bella concluded that Dr. Cullen's hands were the exact same temperature as the hands in my pervawesome daydream starring Bronze Cullen. Ugh! I wanted to beat the Electra complex out of inner-Bella.

"Yes, and you cleverly diverted my attention by citing portions of the United States Code," he countered.

"Well, I obviously didn't do a good enough job trying to distract you," I grouched. Besides, it was me who needed a distraction. Thinking about the beautiful Edward Cullen was not helping.

"Ah. So you do admit that you were trying to distract me, huh?" Dr. Cullen bantered.

"I admit nothing," I huffed, "…besides you have all the confirmation you need from Alice and rest of the Cullen Bunch."

"The Cullen Bunch?" He sounded amused.

"Yes, the 2005 edition of the Brady Bunch but paler, sans flammable polyester, bell-bottoms, beads, or the tragic hair. All eleventy bazillion of them," I sassed.

"I'll have you know that I sported 'totally rad' hair in my day…and that I only have five children, not 'eleventy bazillion.'" He dryly rejoined.

"Totally rad? In your day? Riiiiight 'cause your dentures are clacking- Gah! Okay, it hurts there!" I gasped when he pressed in a particular spot at the base of my spine.

"I am a bit older than you think. Okay, I'm done. Let me help you sit up." When I looked up at Dr. Cullen, he had a kind half-smile on his face. I still had no clue how people got any work done with him walking around.

After writing some notes on my chart, he said, "Bella, since you indicated that your pain level is about a six on a ten scale I'm not going to perform a rectal exam—"

"Eeep!" The embarrassed squeal escaped as soon as my brain processed the word 'rectal.' I clapped my hands over my mouth to stop the sound without success. "Sorry, go ahead…." I mumbled through my fingers as I internally thanked all the gods for the small mercy of no rectal exam by Dr. Cullen.

His lips twitched and I just knew the dastardly handsome bastard was trying not to laugh at me. Nurse Nancy though, was chortling away at my expense. Narrowing my eyes at her I hissed-slash-growled a little. Reacting to my tiny roar, Dr. Cullen pressed his mouth into a thin line and hilarity danced in his eyes.

After schooling his expression, he continued: "As I was saying, I'm not going to do a rec…an internal exam unless the x-rays are inconclusive. Though, I suspect you have a pretty bruised tailbone but no actual fracture or dislocation. If that were the case, your pain level would be higher than you stated."

Nurse Nancy then motioned towards the wheelchair and said, "Hop on. Off to get zapped you go."

And off we went.

* * *

"Well, your x-rays are clear," I explained, "which indicates you have a very badly bruised tailbone."

I heard her groan beneath a curtain of brown hair as she slipped her foot into a ratty shoe. Looking at her overall attire, I could see that it was worn, threadbare, and a bit ill-fitting. It made me wonder. The belt she used was holding a pair of jeans that were a few sizes too big for her.

"That means it's going to be painful for a few days. Ice the area and take over-the-counter medication for the pain. I'm prescribing a mild muscle relaxant. It is likely your neck and back muscles will spasm over the course of the night. Whiplash is a typical result of this type of impact. Take it after you eat some lunch. I'm also giving you a note excusing your absence today and requesting that you be excused from participating in Gym-"

"Really?! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She exclaimed and clutched my hand.

"Is two weeks sufficient?" I asked amused.

"Two weeks without Gym is better than all the Christmas presents I've ever gotten put together!" She was smiling widely.

Coming from anybody else, the hyperbole would have been merely that. Yet, something told me that Bella's Christmases had not been happy and her goofy gratitude belied the truth: kindness and getting what she desired were rare occurrences in her life.

"Dr. Cullen?" she whispered, suddenly timid. "Where is the bill?" She asked as she shuffled the discharge paperwork Nancy had given her.

"Bill?" I was confused.

"Yeah...uh...you know...the ER invoice? I just want to know how much I need to pay so I can, uh, maybe set up a payment plan...if that's possible...I mean, I'm not saying I'm not going to pay you 'cause you've spent all this time with me and Nurse Nancy too... so, of course I'll pay. I always do...pay..." she rambled. Her heart rate spiked and her body temperature increased dramatically. When I heard her sniffle, I could not hold back any longer and grabbed her wringing hands.

"Isabella? Honey? There is no bill, okay?" I said.

Looking up, eyes wide she asked, "What?"

"There is no bill," I repeated.

She looked confused so I explained, "You are on your father's insurance. It says so on your record here. See?" I pointed to the insurance information in her medical chart.

"I don't understand. I'm sorry. It's just that I was here the second day I after I moved. I bought a truck, you know? From one of Charlie's friends...well, I slipped in some mud 'cause there's always mud since it never stops raining and ran into my truck door and hit my head but I didn't see you that day...Dr. Gerandy took care of me...he was very nice...not as nice as you...uh...anyway...there was nothing wrong with me just a goose egg and a headache...but we got a bill and so I had to pay and-" She abruptly cut herself off and gulped a breath. It was obvious that she disclosed that last bit without meaning to do so.

"He _made_ you pay?" I was furious to the point that I could not continue the thought. We both knew who I was talking about.

I had seen that this was not Isabella's first visit to the ER. Yet, the insurance information in her file stated that Chief Swan's insurance covered all emergency services. There had been no debt to begin with. However, if the billing department made a mistake, I would somehow return every penny to Isabella. I would make absolutely sure of that there was nothing for this girl to pay.

I just could not contemplate the alternative: If that man had made his own child pay for her own care, for her health, for such a basic, human need…I once again could not finish the thought. I also made a mental note to ask Jasper to look into Chief Swan's finances. Perhaps, there was an explanation to be found.

I squeezed her little hands and asked for confirmation, "I take it that last part slipped out?"

Hiding behind her hair once again, her head bobbed as she nodded.

"Is any of that connected to the bruises on your arms and ribs?" I prodded.

And because I wasn't really expecting an answer, I was shocked when she whispered, "Not really…not directly related..."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked smelling the salt of her tears.

"Not today," she said quietly.

All traces of the Isabella that precisely connected the dots and boldly called me a vampire in the middle of the ER were gone. I suspected this meek girl was the version of Bella that appeared when the Lauren Mallorys and Charlie Swans of the world made her their target.

"Some other time?" I asked. Another tear and an affirmative nod.

"Alright, then. If you ever need my help, I wrote my personal cell phone and home phone number in this sheet here. My door is always open at any time day or night," I promised. This was much further than I ever expected to get with her. Not wanting to further test the delicate balance of our interaction, I patted her jean-clad leg and stood up.

"So what does this say, then?" She asked squinting at the discharge instructions she was holding two inches from her face.

"Is my handwriting not legible?" I replied with an apology in my voice.

"No. Well, I wouldn't know. I can't really see it," she said sheepishly and looked up from the sheet of paper.

"It just states the instructions we just went over: Ice, rest, pain medication, muscle relaxant, no Gym…" I reiterated. "Do you wear glasses?" I asked though I knew the answer.

"I do...but...they broke...this morning when I, well, you know," she motioned her hands in a circular motion around her injured behind. "Though the breakage was, how did you put it before?...uh, assisted by the foot of the spawn of a certain nurse whose last name rhymes with 'manly'...apropos, don't you think?" She finished with an impish, half-smile that reminded me maybe-not surprisingly of Edward's smirk.

She sighed and said, "The literal pain in my butt made me temporarily forget about my impending, inevitable blindness."

I queried, "Are they a complete loss?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Jessica did a pretty thorough job. I'm just going to have to wait until my next paycheck to get new ones..." Her eyes went a little glassy. I was sure whatever she was considering was not pleasant.

I tried to inquire but it came out as more of statement of fact, "I take it you father would not help." The word 'father' was a snarl. Nancy, who had been quietly hovering in the corner, reacted to the change in my tone. Looking up I saw that she was incensed by what she was overhearing.

"No, I, uh…I'll figure something out..." The resignation in her voice broke my heart.

The picture of Bella's home life with the Chief was becoming clearer and uglier with every single clue revealed. With the financial resources I possessed, my impulse was to offer her the money; as much as she needed. However, Alice had seen that Bella was very proud and would not take kindly to the offer. It irritated me, as it would be as simple as opening my wallet and handing over the eight one-hundred dollar bills, I knew were there.

"You know Isabella, I'm pretty sure your insurance covers the full cost of the prescription lenses. You only need to find frames for them. We have a lost-and-found at the front desk. Maybe you can find a frame there and just get lenses made." I offered and held my breath while I waited for her response.

"Really?" She asked hopeful. "Nobody would mind if I took a pair?"

"I know we have a handful of abandoned frames that have been there since I started working here two years ago. They won't be missed. I cannot guarantee that they will be hip or fashionable, but it's worth a try," I reassured.

"That doesn't matter. I just need to see well enough to do homework and read," she assured me. "I could take them to the optician today..." Bella mumbled to herself.

"Well, then. I'll lead the way. Shall we?" I said motioning towards the wheelchair.

"Is that really necessary?" she whined, even as she sat down and crossed her arms.

"It's hospital procedure. Besides, it would not do for gravity to attack you again; unassisted, this time." I joked as I rolled her in the direction of the reception desk.

"Har, har, har. Dr. Cullen." She grumbled, blushing. Though her eyes were red-rimmed they had regained that bright, Bella-spark.

"Take care, Ms. Bella. I'll see you at the diner," Nancy said as we began down the hallway towards the front desk area.

"See ya, Nurse Nancy. I'll try and keep Mr. Dan away from the steak," Bella promised.

Nancy smiled, "…meh, that mule-headed idiot is only going to learn his lesson the moment his heart puts up a fight against the abuse, but thank you, dear…And Ms. Bella, if you ever need anything, you let us know. Okay?"

Bella's entire face turned purple and her eyes watered. She nodded and whispered a quiet, thank you.

As predicted, Bella found the Alice-provided glasses in the purple case.

I had to admit the style was very becoming. Bella was amazed that she could see perfectly with them. As part of the necessary charade, and like any good doctor would, I suggested she still take them to the optician's office next door. He would be able to determine if the lenses matched her prescription. The entire time Bella gave me a shrewd look and a cocked eyebrow, her smirk and eyes leaving no doubt she was onto me.

As it was, there was no question in my mind that she was _truly_ onto us. It was surprising how unafraid I was; how much I trusted this human girl with all my deadly secrets.

I accompanied her to her old truck, listening as she grumbled under her breath about being perfectly capable of carrying her own 'ripped, piece of crap backpack, dammit.' After a few seconds, she took a resigned breath, mumbled her thanks, and gingerly walked the rest of the way in silence.

After a bit of struggle with the truck door, she turned to me with a pensive expression on her face and asked rhetorically, "You know I am farsighted, right?"

I nodded but remained silent. I wanted to see where her impressive and quirky mind was going with this; how far her bravery reached.

"I've always seen the forest but I tend to miss the trees..." she mused.

And I smiled. Having her around for eternity was going to be delightful. I easily imagined her participating in the regular debates I partook with Jasper and Edward.

"But this time, here...today, for the first time, I feel like I saw everything: the forest and the trees. I even saw the trees clearly first, which I shouldn't have been able to do." She stated seriously, looking straight into my eyes.

"Especially if the trees in question have a great deal of experience hiding," I quipped.

She grinned and continued, "But I did see the experienced trees and there wasn't a ninja or Jedi in sight. Which means that the right explanation is also the simplest: it's a forest; green, wet, with deer and wildlife aplenty." She concluded nodding resolutely.

I was flabbergasted. I'm sure I stood there gaping for a few seconds as I grasped the degree to which she deduced what we were. Isabella was not _just_ "onto" us.

She _knew_ us.

Her voice broke through my thoughts.

"Makes me wonder, though," she mused, "why was I, of all people, able to see what others have missed for God-knows how long?"

I let her questions linger unanswered as those answers belonged to Edward. After a beat, she nodded to herself once again.

"Bella? You should call me Carlisle," I said as she climbed into her truck, "and just so we are clear, I don't own a teleportation device and the trees...well, let's just say they are old; _especially_ the head tree."

With an impish smile she replied, "…believe me, I know."

As I re-entered the building through the automatic doors, I heard her call me over the roar of her truck and automatically turned in her direction.

"Carlisle? Can you let Alice know that it would be really great if she introduced herself? I would very much like to meet her and the rest of the Cullen Bunch...and Carlisle, I...just...thank you. So much."

She had not bothered to open the truck's window.

She was talking at normal volume with the engine idling.

Looking at me across the parking lot. Smiling.

She knew I would hear her.

She did know.

Occam's razor.

The forest and the trees.

A matter of trust, indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I'm just playing. Besides, I only own a cat (Mr. James), student loans (suck it, Citibank!), and a kick-ass Nespresso machine (which I will protect with my life). So, go ahead. Sue me. You will win only the cat; and he is 16 pounds of clawed, hairy grumpiness. He will cut you!

A/N: I really don't like ANs, but anyway, I must provide the following warning- this chapter explores vampire nature. Thus, there is vampire violence. It is _my interpretation_ of how a vampire would act when lost to his instincts. _Instincts_ **are not** _politically_ _correct_. Though I am not writing gratuitous violence, please don't expect a sanitized version of vampire nature. Proceed with caution. You've been warned.

Thanks for all the reviews. I love to hear from you. I'm a newbie so I'm learning as I go. Feel free to point out oopsies, question story points, and sundry.

**Chapter 5: Dirty Laundry**

_"Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence."_ – Dorothy Dix

_"The only secrets are the secrets that keep themselves." _– George Bernard Shaw

Contrary to what Alice believes most of the members of this family wore items of clothing more than once. This meant that one of the most time-consuming tasks I was in charge of was the family's laundry.

Ask any housewife and she'll tell you that the wash for a family of seven, piles up. Ask me and I'll tell you that laundry for a family of seven who run through the Olympic forest at high speeds and wrestle down wild-life on a regular basis, piled up _exponentially_.

This was the case even in spite of Alice's belief that clothing was semi-disposable and that most of Emmett and Rosalie's things ended up in the trash bin; between bears and each other, not much survived.

Still, even as Alice grumbled about the pointlessness of me spending my time doing this for the entire family, I enjoyed doing it.

The warmth of the space, the clean smell, the different textures of the fabrics, and the repetition of folding things at human speed cleared my mind. I enjoyed pruning my roses for the same reason; moving at human speed forced my focus on a single repetitive action. It was meditative in that it quieted down the raging storm of thoughts normally housed in a vampire's brain. It also satisfied a deep-seeded need to care and protect my family.

Rosalie, however, thought it was demeaning. For decades she'd refused to take care of Emmett's clothing stating that she was not going to be "any man's maid" and that if Emmett wished to have clean clothing he would do his own wash. She usually said this while sending a sharp, condescending look my way, as if I was nothing but Carlisle's subjugated, little woman.

Poor Emmett did try; but after he'd ruined most of his wardrobe and broke two washers and one drying machine, I took pity on the giant.

Since then, laundry days were the days when I became the target of Rosalie's derision. Once the smell of fabric softener spread through the house, the little sideway looks and sneers would begin. Even without Edward's talent, I could tell her thoughts towards me were not kind. It was the height of hypocrisy though, since she had no qualms about having me serve as her "maid."

Thinking about Rosalie made my conflicted, un-beating heart clench.

Before her change, by her own admission, Rosalie had been spoiled and self-entitled. She was the golden child of Rochester: her beauty was legendary and she was on the verge of a radiant union with one of the most sought-after bachelors in New England.

Then, the charmed life she believed was owed to her, turned on her.

The transformation sharpened her already strong personality into one almost entirely made up caustic harshness and angry, histrionic self-righteousness.

It certainly didn't help that Edward did not show the slightest interest in her beyond that of a new housemate.

She felt entitled to his devotion even if she didn't care for him.

It also didn't help that she did not develop any special talents as a vampire, as in her eyes it placed her at a disadvantage to Edward's place as Carlisle's companion and my dear confidant. When it became clear that Edward was not going to flatter and attend to her as she was accustomed, she began to cut him down at every opportunity. The more Edward refused to be baited, the more her fury grew.

It was a relief that she found Emmett so soon after her newborn period ended. It was obvious that her sharp edges were softened by the kind, funny, Appalachian man. After their initial mating period (which was...intense, for lack of a better word), she was downright pleasant. She became involved in some of my charity work, spent some time with Jasper discussing books, shopped with Alice, explored her own interest in cars, was pleasant to both Carlisle and myself, and more importantly, more-or-less left Edward alone.

Yet, as decades passed that peace slowly began to erode. It was almost as if her anger was keeping pace with Edward's growing desolation. The more he distanced himself from the rest of the family, the more she picked at him. It was obvious that she respected Carlisle in a way that prevented her from focusing her moods on my husband. Edward, however, was fair game.

Pick. Pick. Pick.

His piano-playing selections bothered her; she didn't want him around when she and Emmett were intimate; she was irrationally adamant that he needed to be around at all times to track the thoughts of humans; she complained about his quiet moping; she complained when he actually voiced an opinion; she accused me of over-mothering him; she accused him of causing me pain when he rebuffed my mothering; she coveted his connection with Carlisle; she scoffed and called him a "pansy-ass, daddy's boy." Nothing he ever did or didn't do was acceptable. And those were the thoughts she gave voice to. I could not begin to imagine what thoughts she directed at him.

On and on it went.

That is not to say that Edward was entirely without blame. Initially, he completely ignored her moods. With time however, Edward's patience and tolerance grew thin.

It's undeniable that his gift gives Edward access to the ugly corners of all our minds, which in a battle of wills, is a powerful advantage. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it to make Rose stew.

Though, I'm sure he could've landed lethal blows to Rosalie's psyche, he never did. He would only say _just_ enough to completely infuriate her; never to truly damage. I'm not sure I would've been so benevolent in the same situation.

Lately, however, she had been aiming her callousness at other members of the family. Rose had stopped making even the slightest effort to mask her disdain regarding anything that did not revolve about her. These days, everything that came out of her mouth was either a scoff or a sneer.

Looking to my right, I saw the remnants of a beloved centerpiece in the '**Repair**' bin. Rose had crushed it during the Swan Summit in a fit of pique when Carlisle informed us of his decision to pursue Alice's plan regarding Isabella.

It wasn't often that Carlisle exercised his power as coven leader. At the Swan Summit, there was no doubt that my husband had issued a decree.

Usually, he favored a democratic decision-making process; typically, family decisions were made by majority rule. This time however, he _informed_ the family of what we were going to do regarding the human girl. He explained his rationale and then he listened to our concerns and opinions. However, his decision was made and it was final.

It was surprising even if I did agree with his thinking: Isabella was an innocent girl that would somehow be thrust onto our world. It was the right thing to do to be there for her and offer our guidance in hopes that she would choose our diet and way of life.

Rose, as she was wont to do with anything regarding a change to her personal circumstance, did not agree. She felt the girl needed to 'disappear' before she brought the unwanted attention of the Volturi down on us. In her words, it was better to "make the useless, little human disappear now" than allow another "Cullen monster" to be created. Needless to say, the eruption that followed was epic, even by Cullen standards.

Surprisingly, the only voice that did not contribute to the din was Emmett's. He just sat there sadly staring at his mate. The look on his face was so hopeless that in that moment (I'm ashamed to admit) I wanted to hurt Rosalie.

Besides Edward, my relationship with Emmett was the closest to being that between a mother and her son. Not quite, but close.

As much trouble as he was (usually involving the destruction of some beloved object d'art, or a wall, or an entire section of our home, for that matter), he was joy to have around. He was a giant, walking ray of sunshine that easily incited my mothering instincts; whether in his defense or to place a solid smack on the back of his head.

So looking at his despairing face made me furious- how could Rose not see how much she constantly hurt Emmett?

Had it not been for Jasper's emotional intervention and a kind look from Edward, I would've crouched and snarled at _her_ without a second thought. As it was, the vicious hiss that escaped me shocked the table-full of angry vampires into order. They were not used to hearing me make such noises; especially not directed at one of them. The involuntary rumble from my chest did not stop until hours after the meeting was adjourned and only after Carlisle dragged me away from the house under the guise of 'private time.' Though in reality, my mate was giving me time to calm down before I acted on the feelings coursing through me.

After we returned to the house, Edward confirmed my fears.

"Rose has no idea, no clue that Emmett is on the verge of breaking. And what's worse is that she doesn't care enough to _get_ a clue. Emmett is strong but something has to give, Esme. She is testing the very fiber of their mate-bond." After sharing a worried look, he walked out of my studio.

It was clear that the mounting tensions between Rosalie and the rest of the family were rapidly coming to a head. I was not entirely sure what would be the catalyst, but something inside told me that it would be heart-wrenchingly painful for all of us.

But his was not a new worry.

For years, Carlisle and I had discussed Rosalie's increasingly poor treatment of the others. We were trying to come up with a plan but we were both at a loss.

The difficulty laid in the complicated dynamics of our family.

Though we played the part of 'parents' for the outside world, Carlisle and I were not the parents of the household. A part of me would always yearn for the role, but it was clear that there were no children to actually parent in our home. With the exception of Carlisle who was our undisputed leader, we were a household of equals. That meant that outside of offering guidance to the "children," we allowed them to resolve their differences independently.

It was unusual for us to have to intervene in a conflict between members of the family. Not that there were many.

For the most part, they usually involved Emmett pushing the boundaries past the threshold of patience of one of the others. The extent of the conflict resolution usually involved a raised eyebrow, an "Emmett, stop that!" and a well-placed thwack to the back of his head.

However, the situation with Rosalie forced our hand.

After a particular ugly incident between Edward and Rose last Christmas, Carlisle and I decided that an intervention was needed. I suggested we consult with Jasper, as his gift and education could provide valuable insight. So as soon as Alice left the house to hunt, Rose left to meet with a rare cars dealer in Seattle, and Emmett and Edward departed towards Goat Rocks Wilderness, Carlisle, Jasper and I convened in the library.

I did not have to think hard to bring the crystal clear memory of that conversation to the forefront of my mind.

…

"I know I should have curbed her hostile behavior towards Edward a long time ago. I fear, however, that I allowed my own guilt over the decision to change her cloud my judgment in that regard," Carlisle confessed. "I always held hope that with enough time and love, Rose would be able to find a place of acceptance of this life. Maybe even peace."

I felt for my husband. He still carried so much guilt over the decision to turn Rosalie. I had hopes that Jasper could help, but not even his supreme strategic mind and wonderful gift had any answers for us.

"Carlisle, to be honest, a few decades ago I would've agreed with ya' one-hundred percent. But right now, Rose is a black hole of love...no matter how much love you throw at her she'll keep takin' and takin.' No matter how much time you allow her," Jasper disclosed resigned.

_That_ I couldn't accept. I resisted the idea that she was somehow lost to us.

"She was hurt in ways males cannot understand. It's natural that she will carry anger and resentment with her for as long as she exists. I know it because I've felt similar things myself," I confessed, wishing that they could see that it was not hopeless.

Jasper grimaced. I knew that every time I mentioned my human life, he was forced to share my emotions regarding that horrible period. Every bit the same way Edward was dragged along my thoughts and memories.

"Esme, the difference is that you wanted to get past all that ugliness and you worked real hard to move beyond that," he explained.

"And Rose does not want to?" Carlisle asked.

"Look, as long as I've known her, I've felt Rosalie get off emotionally on being the raging bitc...uh, pardon me Esme," he stopped mid-word sheepishly and continued, "...perhaps because it kept the attention on her, or diverted the attention away from her weaknesses, I'm not sure. What I _am_ sure of is that when she acts all self-righteous and smug, she feels strong and untouchable. So she falls back on that. In the past, she's done it without intent to hurt or at least one that I couldn't detect...

"Lately though, it's the darnest thing- when she's cuttin' people down, _especially_ Edward, all I get from her is _satisfaction_. It just feels so good, it pours out of her. It is not about feelin' strong anymore; it's about hurting others the way she hurts…and she does it consciously," he concluded with scowl that matched my husband's.

It broke my heart that Rose was intentionally causing others pain.

Feeling _my_ pain, Jasper hastened to explain: "Don't misunderstand, Esme. I'm not saying that she's evil, but I'm not goin' to pussy-foot 'round. In those moments she _is_ malicious...It don't really bother me, but I have to confess that I have a real hard time when she goes after Alice. Allie pretends it doesn't affect her but I know my girl is lonely and all she wants is a best friend in that silly way girls do. Rose has made it crystal clear that she ain't interested." He finished with a dejected shrug.

Next to me Carlisle sighed, "That saddens me more than I can say. I wonder why Rose's attitude is deteriorating..."

"Carlisle, you know I usually keep private things private unless there are extenuating circumstances. So I'm tellin' you what Rose's been feeling only 'cause I believe this to be the case. Do you want the _brutally_ honest opinion from somebody with a couple of post-grad psych degrees?" Jasper respectfully waited for Carlisle's assent.

Carlisle nodded, "Absolutely. Go ahead."

"She's sick, Carlisle. PTSD, major depressive disorder, rape trauma syndrome, call it what you want. Bottom line is that what happened to her in that Rochester alley still haunts her and it's getting worse. There have been times when she's been truly happy and then suddenly, just like that," Jasper snapped his fingers, "…the happiness turned into downright terror. And just as quickly that fear turned to rage. A rage so powerful it's blinding…real similar to what I get from a newborn being held back from blood. She was barely able held back from attacking," he confided.

"Terror?" I was confused. "She feels scared of being happy?"

"It _does_ makes sense," Carlisle reassured me. "Rosalie has been defining herself and her entire belief system solely on the idea that she'd rather be dead than what she is right now. To find happiness in _this_ life would mean she would have to reevaluate absolutely everything about herself. Which is, understandably, a daunting prospect," Carlisle theorized.

"Right as rain, Carlisle," Jasper concurred. "This is probably outdated theory, but usually RTS sufferers go through a series of emotional stages post-rape. First is the Acute stage: this is the shock stage. Victims are usually agitated, volatile and often incoherent. It's when the victim realizes what's happened and tries to manage the initial consequences of the attack. Typically that would be pressing charges, how to tell people…that kinda stuff. This is overwhelming so volatility is normal: one moment, stable and in control only to break down suddenly. The sooner the immediate issues are resolved, the better.

"Next comes the reorganization stage; this is where the phobias, copin' mechanisms, fears, and revenge fantasies develop. Denial kicks in, so it's vital that victims confront the attack at this point…then with counselin' and a lot of effort, survivors can reach the Renormalization stage; with this comes acceptance and adjustment. It's at this point that a survivor integrates the sexual assault into their lives and it stops being the central focus," he explained.

"Your use of the word 'victim' for the first two stages and 'survivor' for the last stage was not accidental, I take it?" I asked.

"You caught that, huh? No, it's no accident. Rose's a ticking time-bomb because she's stuck between the first and second stage without ever reaching the renormalization stage. Because of how her life changed the day she was attacked, I'd betcha whatever you want, that Rose developed a paralyzing fear of anythin' that could cause a drastic change in her environment, including a change in her _own_ emotions," Jasper sighed unhappily.

"For her, it's a cycle. She avoids thinking about the rape, but that doesn't make the rage go away. So, she projects: In her mind, she's probably made vampirism the reason why everything went wrong. She becomes terrified when she feels happy as vampire and she lashes out in anger...It's a copin' mechanism. Smoke and mirrors," Jasper finished.

"So your saying that Rose cannot move on? She's trapped because she was changed at that precise moment?" I asked again. It was horrifying that Rose was still being hurt by that vicious man and would be caught in his grasp for the rest of eternity.

"Not at all. She absolutely _can_ move on. I've never bought into that nonsense that vampires don't change…look at me; I'm the best evidence. A classic poster-child for reformed vampirism…" he said with a rueful smile, "…Thought it's true; I struggle every day with the _instinct,_ but that is purely physical; my spiritual perspective has been irrevocably transformed. I _have_ changed..." he said, and looked at Carlisle, searching for signs of approval in my mate's face.

And Carlisle did not disappoint; he gently squeezed Jasper's shoulder.

"Though I do not often verbalize how proud I am, Jasper, never doubt my awareness of the sheer magnitude of your achievement."

Jasper was right: he _had_ changed. I held his hand in support and allowed my pride to overflow. He lifted his scarred face to mine and smiled in gratitude.

"So it is possible to change. Our core personalities are frozen after the transformation but that does not mean that modifications of behavior and beliefs are impossible. The real question is whether Rose _wants_ to," Carlisle reasoned.

"It's gruelin' work. I live my life making decisions every hour of every day about my diet. And it's not just a "vampire thing" either," Jasper mimed air-quotes with a smirk, "it's the same for humans with addictions and other mental illnesses…The choices might be few, but there is always a choice. Recovery depends on two things: One, choosing to get better and two, making the _right_ choices over and over, minute-by-minute..." Jasper enumerated. "As for Rose, she would have to admit things to herself that she has spent decades avoidin' like the plague..." A single line appeared between his brows as he contemplated his next thought. Then he continued.

"Not to mention that she would have to make amends; especially to Edward. Rose is vain, we all know that; but that's nothing compared to how proud she is...she gives Edward a run for his money in the stubbornness department too...I'm afraid somethin' big is gonna happen that will push Rose beyond the limits of the copin' mechanisms she's built over the years...and it ain't goin' to be pretty," Jasper predicted sounding every bit like Alice herself.

…

And two months to the day after that conversation, Alice had her vision of Isabella.

I tried my very best to tamp down the excitement I felt; that pure yearning to welcome a true daughter into the family.

It was a very real possibility it would all end in disaster.

But I couldn't help myself.

If Edward was unable to control the strongest urge any of us could ever encounter, Isabella would die. According to Alice, Isabella was to be my chance at true parenthood. I wanted nothing but her life to be preserved.

This desire to mother the girl was compounded by Alice's disclosure that there was something not-quite-right about Isabella's home life.

She had seen Isabella alone in a dark room; Isabella rummaging through empty cupboards; Isabella in the back of an official looking car on her way to the airport.

Hearing Alice's vague visions on what had brought Isabella to Forks took me back to what it like for me as a human girl Isabella's age.

One year, I was breaking my leg and meeting the new, handsome, young doctor in town and the next, I was betrothed to a ruff, taciturn stranger twice my age.

I still carried the knowledge of what it felt to live at the mercy of indifference in the marrow of my bones. My parents abandoned me when I needed them the most. Showing up at their doorstep, desperate, bloody and bruised, I begged them to protect me from the husband _they_ had chosen for me. Yet, they cared more for their reputations than they did for me and they left me and my unborn baby at the mercy of that man's fists.

So with the opportunity so close at hand to stop some of that kind of hurt for Isabella, I ached to protect her, be there for her, and in whatever capacity she needed me to be. I tried not to think about it but Isabella already held my heart in the palm of her hand. And though I attempted to keep my thoughts in check, I knew Edward heard them and felt the added pressure of my yearning.

I also knew that Edward could do it; but I admit I had no realistic concept of how difficult it would all be.

When Carlisle informed us of the course of action we were to take as a family to prepare and deal with the impact to be brought by Isabella, I worried that if this failed my family would be pushed to the breaking point. My mind immediately went back to that conversation and Jasper's words:

"...it ain't gonna be pretty."

And for the past month it had been a struggle.

Edward began working on his control the night Isabella arrived into town. As planned, Alice snuck into Isabella's room and absconded with the t-shirt the girl had worn that day. Edward's reaction to the bit of cloth was shocking and heartbreaking.

Jasper brought the shirt into the living room where Carlisle and Emmett had been restraining Edward. No sooner had the scent reached him, Edward threw Carlisle and Emmett clear across the room and charged at Jasper. Lost in haze of instinct, he almost took Jasper's hand off while trying to get to the source of his singer's scent.

After the dust settled, we found Edward in a corner of the destroyed room, protecting his 'kill' behind the ruined sofa. He was crouching over the bits of dark purple cotton fabric that had survived his initial attack; rubbing the fabric back and forth over his face. He stayed there, not moving, for 24 hours; snarling and growling when any of us entered the room.

Only when the shirt lost almost all traces of Isabella's scent did Edward return to himself. He stood up slowly. His eyes were sluggish and confused as if he was waking up from deep sleep.

He immediately became dismayed when he saw the full extent of the damage he'd caused to our home. Over and over, he tried to apologize and became aggravated when we insisted his apologies were not necessary. We could all smell the furious temptation carried in Isabella's blood, and she wasn't _our_ singer.

Yet for Edward, who took such pride in his control and good manners, to be reduced to such a savage state was intolerable. It was a devastating reminder of the beast that lived within all of us.

The entire episode was repeated for several days with the same result: Jasper would bring one of Isabella's items and Edward would be immediately overwhelmed by bloodlust. Each time he emerged from the primal haze he would be plagued by self-hate and guilt. Nobody admitted it out loud but looking around the kitchen table I could see the resignation in the faces. With the exception of Alice, we were all losing hope that Edward would be able to harness the control necessary for Isabella to survive. The pull was simply too strong and the need, too primal. He wasn't making any progress.

I wondered what it would take for the family to survive this and prayed that the cost was not Isabella's life.

Then, my prayers were answered in the most unlikely way.

Like the previous nights for the past two weeks, Edward was crouched in the corner of the room, holding the remnants of Isabella's socks with venom dripping down his chin and steadily growling at Jasper.

Brave Jasper had taken to sitting with and conversing with Edward, in hopes that Edward would somehow regain a trace of his humanity in the midst of the most overwhelming bloodlust possible. He theorized that if Edward was able regain some rationality, he could think his way _through_ the temptation.

We could all hear the quiet, one-sided conversation.

"...I know what you're going to say...but I'm tellin' you that there's insufficient evidence that any God or gods exist and furthermore, personal religions experiences are indistinguishable from misapprehension. So you can call me whatever, but—

"Oh for the love of God!" Rosalie suddenly jumped up from her seat and stormed out of the kitchen for the living room.

We immediately rushed after her.

The scene we found in the sitting room was surreal: Jasper physically restraining Rosalie to stop her from charging at Edward; Rosalie struggling to break free from Jasper's grasp; Edward in his corner, facing the pair of blondes with muscles coiled to attack at the smallest provocation; Rosalie ranting so loud the window panes vibrated.

Feeling us behind her, she turned and screamed: "Let the little pet vampire be; he's never going to get it, so do us all a favor and get that filthy sock out of this house!"

Taking advantage of Rosalie's distraction, Jasper pushed Rosalie off and stood between her and Edward, preparing to stop Rosalie if she tried to rush Edward again.

"Rosalie! Cease immediately!" ordered Carlisle.

"Or what, Carlisle? What are you going to do? Huh?" she challenged haughtily. "Look at him! Your golden child! Your perfect, little, Victorian vampire; nothing more than an animal! This is waste of time! _He's_ a waste of time!" she screamed pointing at Edward, who was growling louder in warning.

Emmett tried to appease Rosalie, for once acting sensibly and recognizing the danger at hand. "Babe, you need to calm do—

"I don't have to do anything!" she shrieked. "I'm sick and tired of this crap! Edward, Edward, Edward. Everything is always about him!"

"Rose, you know that is not true. We love you all," I tried to reason with her.

"You know what?! I don't have to take this anymore. I'm draining that little bitch myself!" She said as she turned and ran straight to the front of the house.

I closed my eyes and I braced for the bang of the front door as it came off its hinges.

Yet, the sound never came.

Rosalie simply never made it to the door.

Faster than I had ever seen him move, Edward intercepted Rosalie and pinned her against the foyer wall with his teeth at her neck.

"Miiiiinnnnneeeee!" Edward roared inches from Rosalie's face.

Beside me Carlisle whispered, "Oh God, no."

"Jazz, please do something. He's going to kill her..." Alice pleaded her eyes glazed with visions.

"I'm tryin' Ally!" Jasper said with jaw clenched in concentration. "Nobody move an inch!"

Emmett was vibrating with the effort to stay where he stood and not rush in defense of his mate.

Cracks were beginning to appear down Rose's arms and across her shoulders. Her face had no trace of anger left.

It seemed Rose finally understood the danger she had placed herself in.

After an eon, Jasper's efforts took effect and I saw Edward's grip relax just a fraction.

"Go ahead Carlisle. I've got him now..." Jasper instructed, still fiercely concentrating on his brother.

Inching slightly forward, Carlisle pled: "Edward, son? Please let Rosalie go. She's not going to hurt Isabella. Right, Rose?" That last question was curt and flintlike.

Rosalie jerkily shook her head in assent.

"No hurt...Isabella...Mine..." Edward repeated in a raspy groan and looked up at Carlisle for assurance with guileless, jet black eyes.

"Yes. Isabella is yours. Nobody will hurt her. I promise."

After a breathless moment, Edward stepped away flattening himself against the opposite wall, leaving Rosalie to limply slide down into a gasping heap on the slate floor.

The scene was like the aftermath of a car wreck: That breathless moment after impact when all motion ceases, objects and bodies surrender to inertia, the metallic crunching ends, and the only sounds left are of hissing carburetors and dripping fluids. I could only hear Rosalie's pants and the beginnings of a rain shower hitting against the roof of the house.

Then like a rubber band snapping back, Edward gingerly pushed away from wall. Slowly his shoulder straightened. When he looked up, his eyes were dark but clear; Edward was all there again.

"I will say this once," he warned in a rasp, "...nobody will hurt her; not _you_ Rosalie and especially, not me."

There was something indefinable in his voice; it was both sharp and ragged and completely unlike Edward. There was nothing polite or genteel or Victorian about his tone.

As he deliberately walked towards the stairs, his gait exuded the savagery that had just been freed within him. He also looked older. Stronger. Like the brittleness that had always been within him had solidified into something forceful and resolute.

For the first time since I'd known him, Edward looked like a fully-grown man.

Yet when he turned towards me, the softness he always reserved just for me was back in his voice. "I will help repair the…uh…damage tomorrow. If that's alright with you?"

In awe of his transformation, I could only nod.

"Jasper, I'd like very much to continue our…conversation tomorrow." At the word 'conversation' the corners of Edward's mouth lifted a fraction.

"You heard me?!" Jasper gasped but quickly caught himself. "I didn't think you had...um, yes. Of course. Tomorrow night?"

Edward nodded. He took one last impassive look at the corner where the little pile of Isabella's clothing rested.

"Okay. Well, I feel...tired now. I'll be in my room." And without the slightest glance in Rosalie's direction, Edward retired for the night.

To say that things changed that night would be a gross understatement.

Though each subsequent night Edward continued to struggle, he never completely lost himself to the bloodlust again. He was able to sustain conversations even as he cradled Isabella's delicate headband. A sweater. A hooded sweatshirt. More fuzzy socks. A sneaker.

The low rumbling never quite stopped but he didn't growl at us.

Nothing was shredded. No furniture was destroyed.

He allowed us to be in the room.

He didn't crouch or ready himself for attack.

He only hissed when Rosalie was in the vicinity; her threat to Isabella was obviously not forgotten.

Yet, I had no illusions that Edward saw Isabella as no more than a human with the most delectable blood he could ever imagine.

No matter how much I wished for the possibility of it being _more,_ I knew that Edward's protectiveness was a nothing more than part of his resolve to resist the call. He explained to Jasper that if he made himself Isabella's protector, he couldn't be her endangerer.

Yet, I noticed that a strange twinkle appeared in Carlisle's eyes every time Edward reacted so protective to the threat he still perceived from Rose.

I questioned Carlisle but he gave me an obviously evasive answer and then tried to well, distract me with his Carlisle-ishness. One would think that after 360 years, Carlisle would've mastered the concept of "subtlety" right?

Wrong.

He did distract me that one time…a lot.

But he should know that a vampire doesn't forget. Anything. Ever.

Especially, when the twinkle came back every time Edward hissed at Rosalie and protected whatever item of Isabella's he happened to be holding.

The obvious conclusion was that Carlisle knew something and he was keeping it to himself.

I was pretty sure Alice was involved because...when has Alice ever been _not_ involved in the happenings in our home?

I trusted my mate though. He would tell me when he thought it prudent. Until then, I observed and supported Edward as he grappled with the darkest part of our nature.

And he was winning the fight.

With each day that went by during that second week, Edward was able to retain more and more of his humanity while in the midst of his singer's thrall. He wasn't holding his breath anymore. He didn't need to hold the item in his hands the entire time. He would converse with Jasper and Carlisle without difficulty.

By the end of the week, Edward allowed Carlisle to remove Isabella's things from the room after a few hours without protest; Carlisle would just walk out of the room, offering Edward his vulnerable back and neck without qualms. And Edward...I thought I would burst with pride, as Edward never reacted in the slightest way to Carlisle walking out carrying Isabella's items.

We all agreed he was ready to attempt to be in the vicinity of Isabella.

So, he began going with his brothers and sister to Isabella's house to retrieve additional items and return the ones that had been removed. Edward would stay at the tree line, flanked by Jasper and Emmett, while Alice scaled the side of the house to enter the girl's room through the window.

Jasper and Emmett reported that the first night, Edward seemed mesmerized by the heartbeat and the powerful floral scent emanating from the open bedroom window but was never out of control. He merely stiffened, locked all muscles, and took deep breaths. After that first night, Edward would simply acknowledge the temptation and wait patiently for Alice to return.

We knew Edward was truly ready to return to school after what happened during the breaking-and-entering excursion last Tuesday.

That night, when the four of them reached the Swan home, they found that Isabella was not asleep in her bed as expected. She was in the laundry room folding a laundry. Jasper had previously mentioned that Isabella appeared to be quite clumsy and she proved this at the worst possible moment by having some sort of accident earlier in that day.

Though her blood was not flowing, the children reported it was indeed, fresh. Her scent was stronger than usual which lead Jasper to believe Isabella had bruised herself and by the intensity of scent, the bruising must have significant. We all knew that the scent of blood on the surface of the skin was much more powerful than blood rushing through vacuum-sealed vessels.

I could only imagine what it felt like for Edward to be in the presence of Isabella's potent blood (even if it was in a bruise). Jasper immediately went on alert, grabbing Edward. Yet, Jasper's reaction was completely unnecessary.

After they returned home, Emmett reported excitedly that Edward merely muttered that 'it' burned, swallowed a mouthful of venom, asked Jasper to release him and to please make Alice hurry "the hell" up. Alice (of course) contributed color commentary and psychic opinions to Emmett's account of how Edward didn't even flinch when Isabella moved around the small room in the back of the house. Jasper, well...Jasper just stood there with the most bewildered look in his face.

"I'm sorry Edward," he said apologetically, "I didn't realize until just now that I wasn't entirely confident you could do it...but you sure as hell, did… for me it's been so many years and it's still so damn hard and feelin' how she smells to you and you didn't even...I...well, shit."

I was pretty sure none of us had seen Jasper so out-of-sorts before. It was such a strange occurrence I didn't even think to admonish the curse word.

"So I'm ready?" Edward asked his brother.

"Without question. You _have_ this," Jasper assured grasping Edward's shoulders in solidarity and support.

Edward insisted to stay out of school for the rest of the week for an extended carnivore-hunting trip. Thus, today, after three weeks of training and preparation, Edward was returning to Forks High. Alice had already said that Edward would be more than fine today. She also mentioned that everything was happening according to plan. Carlisle got the twinkle in his eye after she said this, but quickly muttered something about being late for pre-rounds at the hospital and prepared to leave for work.

Though on the surface, the morning appeared to be like any of the thousands of Monday mornings we've spent together, we all knew it was nothing but.

Edward had gone hunting alone in the early hours of the morning, returning home with just enough time to prepare for his school day. Carlisle left for work after he and Edward spent three silent minutes in the study. I was certain that Carlisle mentally reiterated what we had all been telling Edward for days: That we were proud and confident in him and that he had our unconditional support.

As Edward sped away, I once again sent him my love.

I was not psychic like Alice or empathic like Jasper, yet I was absolutely certain that he would be able to live up to his own expectations and that Isabella would remain safe.

I had so much faith in him that it was inconceivable to me that the worst could happen.

So, when a mere 35 minutes after he departed, I heard Edward's Volvo speeding home, I froze in shock.

The laundry folding forgotten, I rushed up from the basement just in time to see Edward barrel through the front door.

"Esme?"

He looked flabbergasted but there was no blood anywhere on him. His wide-eyes were still the beautiful gold from this morning.

That meant nothing though.

Oh that poor, poor girl.

He could've crushed her; broken her neck; attacked her in public.

I tried not to think about the girl that would've become my daughter. There would be time for that later. Now, I needed to take care of my family and my son.

We needed to leave Forks.

As the person in charge of coordinating the family's emergency relocation "procedures" my mind sprang into action.

In a less than a second, I went through the checklist: I needed to contact the property manager of the Denali house. No. Denali was too close; our history there, too recent. The Ithaca house would be better. Jasper would need to contact Jenks to erase our tracks in the state of Washington. We would take all the cars and drive to New York. The movers would pack and ship our belongings; the art and personal effects would go. The furniture would stay with the house.

"Esme! Calm down."

I was aware that Edward was talking to me but there was too much to do and there was no time to calm down. So I kept running down my mental list: The real estate market was depressed so maybe I could hold off on putting the house on sale for a bit…though that Microsoft executive had been incredibly interested a few months back and...Carlisle would need to be called if one of the children had not done so already and Alice would have to contact our Broker; banks accounts would need to be closed, funds transferred and assets moved around. I made a mental note to set up some sort of fund for the Swans and...

"MOTHER!"

Edward's uncharacteristic holler made the onslaught of thoughts screech to halt.

Why was he so calm?

"I'm anything but calm...I, uh...something happened involving Isabella," he mumbled.

What in the world was he talking about? Of _course_ something happened to Isabella...oh! my little girl. I hope that she didn't suffer; that it was quick...The grief was overwhelming; for Edward and for Isabella. My babies...

"She is with Carlisle now," he explained.

Of course she's with God...Wait!

Carlisle?

She's _with_ Carlisle?

"Isabella's alive?!" I yelped.

Oh, at least the girl had a fighting chance. Maybe she could survive this.

"What!? Of course she's alive?" He looked confused and I couldn't understand why he was reacting so strangely to what must have happened with Isabella.

"So you stopped in time?"

Calm. I needed to stay calm. I needed to breathe. Well, not really, but...

"No. Why would I stop? I've been waiting for this moment for 90 years." The confusion in his voice had turned to exasperation.

Why was _he_ was frustrated with _me_?

Was it possible for a vampire to go crazy? Maybe Edward had lost his mind; the stress of resisting his singer too much for him.

Still, he was acting bizarrely nonchalant; that silly, little smile had not left his face for a second. Why in God's green Earth would Edward be smiling right now?

It was infuriating; crazy vampire pseudo-child or not. This was not to be borne.

I just could not believe his indifference in the face of this catastrophe or the insensitive words coming from his mouth.

"Why, Edward? After all that effort? I thought you were trying to prevent hurting Isabella?" I couldn't help the shrill tone seeping into my voice...or my thoughts.

"Hurting? It wasn't me who hurt her!" Edward's face scrunched into a thunderous scowl.

I gasped. How did Alice miss this?

"Oh God, Edward...Was it Jasper?" I felt like I was choking. How would we survive this? Could we survive this? This would surely destroy Jazz and by consequence, Alice. The guilt would eat us up. All of us. Nobody would be spared.

Oh my...could vampires lose consciousness? I had a vague recollection of fainting as a human. I remember seeing dark spots right before I blacked out. I swore I was seeing those same dark spots in my vision.

"What? No! Jasper? Esme, you are not passing out. Vampires don't pass out. Okay?" Edward was holding my shoulders in support and was talking to me like I was the crazy one.

"Nobody has lost their mind here," he started and paused. Then Edward shook his head and slowly the sweetest smile I've ever seen from him bloomed on his face.

"...Well, maybe I lost my mind a little, or a whole lot. I feel like I've lost something. Like up is down and down is up now...No. That isn't right. I didn't _lose_ anything...I found something that I was missing; a vital part that I didn't have, but didn't know was missing. Or I _did_ know but didn't realize the true extent of its absence. I thought I knew what it felt like from listening to the thoughts of others, but I had no idea...How could I understand? It would be like trying to explain the Sistine Chapel frescoes to somebody without sight or the Ninth Symphony to somebody who cannot hear. It would be like –

"Edward! What _are_ you talking about?!" I interrupted before he mystified me even more. I needed answers. My patience and nerves had run out.

"What does Michelangelo or Beethoven have to do with Isabella Swan being drained this morning in the middle of Forks High School?!" My screech immediately melted the dreamy expression off his face.

"Drained?! Esme, what are you...you thought that...uh, drained?" The little bastard had the gall to let a giggle loose, but after seeing the scathing look on my face he quickly sobered up.

He took my hand and led me to the brand new sofa in the sitting room.

Taking a deep he said, "Esme, nobody drained Isabella today. She's with Carlisle because the Mallory girl pulled her down a flight of stairs. She was injured." His eyes were jet black and there was snarl rumbling in his chest.

"Oh. That's...well, terrible. But she's alright, Edward. Right?" I was instantly relieved and outraged at the same time.

Yet, there was something missing from this picture.

Edward nodded. He was also nervously squeezing and releasing my hands in time with his breathing.

Squeeze. Release.

Squeeze. Release.

Big. Something big was missing. Huge.

"That doesn't explain why you're here, though. There's something else, isn't there?" I asked softly.

Looking down at our hands he nodded again, looking like a little boy.

"Tell me."

Looking at me through his lashes, he whispered with fear and wonder soaking his every word: "Isabella is my mate. I'm not alone anymore."

And then he buried his sweet face in my neck and broke down in sobs.


	6. Chapter 6

Legal Junk: Me no own. If I did, I would be posting this from a private jet on my way to NYC for a shoe shopping extravaganza…not (like I am) standing on my tippy toes in the corner of my apartment where I can get a weak, but unprotected wi-fi signal from one of my neighbors…I'm poor. Don't judge.

A/N: Like always, no Beta. And to make matters worse, I had a cold, I probably had too much NyQuil (which fried my brain) and the Olympics are on TV…Every. Single. Night. Distracting me. So, this chapter was birthed over three weeks of germs, pharma-induced-mini-writers-block, and non-stop coverage of obscure snow-sports. Let me know if I screwed up.

**Chapter 6: Persistence of Vision**

**_"Persistence of vision_**_ is the phenomenon of the eye by which an afterimage is thought to persist for approximately one twenty-fifth of a second on the retina."_

_"Each of your eyes has over 3 million photo-receptors called rods and cones… When you look at something, the rods and cones in your eyes fire in rapid succession. But between each firing, there is a brief resetting period, during which time your eyes are unable to take in any new information. You brain covers up these microscopic moments of blindness with lingering after-images which help make your vision appear to be fluid and uninterrupted, even though it is not. This phenomenon, known as "persistence of vision", is the unique physiological quirk that makes the illusion of animation possible. The dark spaces between each still frame of animation literally sneak by while your eyes are not looking."_ – Blue Man Group, 'Rods and Cones'

It was a strange state I found myself in. I was both, perfectly aware of every minute detail of the world around me and also somnolent, as if I were a human gently waking from a long nap. The contradiction gave my surroundings a perfect, dreamlike quality. To my eyes everything appeared simultaneously hazy and sharp.

Like always, the sun was hiding behind the ever-present clouds over Forks. Yet the milky light that filtered down on the Olympic peninsula which yesterday made everything look dreary and drowned, seemed to make the world around me, shimmer. It was as if the center of our solar system had been switched to an entirely different celestial body. Logically, I understood this to be absurd: Yesterday's sun was the same sun that had risen today.

But something had shifted.

A paradigm I thought was unmovable and unchangeable, had been completely torn apart, rearranged, and put back together in a new, unrecognizable arrangement.

It was _me_. I felt I was meeting a stranger; a new friend.

For the first time in my life, I felt present.

Solid. Relevant. Un-fungible.

Awake.

I recognized that whereas before I used to drift, aimless and isolated, now I felt cradled by Isabella's gravity.

Everything felt new: the mossy, forest carpet beneath my feet, the fabric of my shirt and pants rubbing against my skin as I ran, the smell of wet earth, and the sounds of the rushing Sol Duc. I could almost feel the individual air particles expanding my lungs; with every exhalation I purged each individual measure of time totaling one hundred years of feeling insufficient, faulty, and unwanted.

I ran faster. Breathed even deeper.

At this point, it did not matter that Isabella did not know me from Job. That would come later (I hoped).

I did not understand were all this optimism was coming from, as my natural tendency was to be a grumpy, pessimistic curmudgeon. Yet, I felt buoyed and certain that I would complete her as she already completed me.

Something had passed between us in that parking lot. I connected to her and I somehow knew she had tethered to me.

I instinctively understood that I would need to improve myself.

That the time for the self-indulgent, myopic, self-involvement that had dominated my sense of self for decades was at an end. Isabella needed a partner to care and protect her. I tacitly comprehended that my tendency to overreact would need to be tampered.

Every fiber of my being dictated that I become Isabella's equal: Somebody as precious as my Isabella could not love a monster.

I would need to rise above my nature; I was _more_ than the supernatural make-up of my physical existence.

Yet, for all the optimism I now had, the truth was that I did not know _how_ to shed the self-hate and doubts.

Just last week I struggled like a feral animal to control the predatory impulse to destroy, to consume, to kill.

Still, the mere thought of hurting my mate made the venom coating my mouth taste like ash. I would need to keep the monster in its cage and figure out how to become the man she needed me to be…and I didn't know where to begin.

As any young man of my time, I knew in theory what courting involved: conversation; sharing interests; romance.

If my affections were reciprocated, courting would lead (hopefully) to...intimacy: Holding her hand, a caress, a stolen kiss or two.

All I needed was a plan.

Tomorrow, I would introduce myself.

I would offer to escort her to her classes or carry her books…or escort her to her classes _while_ carrying her books.

I would play the piano for her and show her my stamp collection.

I would ask her on a date.

We could take a walks. We could discuss books and music.

I would hold her hand and...kiss her and...touch her...and then maybe someday, I would make lov—

Oh God!

She was going to run away from me.

Or laugh.

Or run away laughing...as far away from the awkward, pathetic, 107-year-old virgin vampire loser.

A mental image of Isabella running away screaming locked my leg muscles, which made me pitch face first into the forest floor at over 130 mph.

After skidding for hundreds of yards and leaving a deep trench in my path, I finally came to a stop against the trunk of an enormous hemlock.

"When I suggested we go for a run, I was not expecting a visit to the Canadian Rockies." Esme said as she wiped the mud off my face and smoothed my dirty hair off my forehead.

I knew she had been running behind me the entire time, yet the sound of her voice somehow took me by surprise. As always, her tone was calm and her touch was soothing. But when I finally focused, I realized that Esme's thoughts were swirling like tropical storm winds.

She was frantic with excitement, disbelief, and curiosity.

In fact, Esme's thoughts were uncharacteristically loud; almost reaching "Alice-on-Black-Friday-shopping-spree" levels.

On top of everything, she was mentally chortling; she had been near enough to witness my less-than-graceful swan dive into the mud.

Swan-dive.

Swan.

Isabella.

I sighed and fully rolled over onto my back.

"Open your eyes, Edward." I could hear the smile in her tone.

Petulantly, I shook my head in denial. I was too busy imaging the infinite number of ways I was likely to ruin everything before it even started.

Good lord…the stamp collection? Really?

And holding her hand? To actually touch her skin? Her perfect, pale, warm skin? Really?

I was a century old and just experienced my first, err…tumescence. In public.

Rosalie was right: I was a 'pathetic loser'…

_Edward, you can talk to me. _

Ugh! My so-called gift was a curse. There was no escape.

"No."

So, I was pouting. Like Emmett would say, 'sue me.'

It was my prerogative to keep the depths of my pathetic-ness private for as long as I feasibly could.

_What's bothering you? _

"Nothing," I huffed. I may or may have not crossed my arms and turned my head back towards the tree.

_Fine. I can wait until you are ready._

I internally rolled my eyes because Esme _could_ wait. Carlisle had the reputation of being the 'patient' one of the family, but it was Esme who truly deserved the title.

Buddha had nothing on this woman.

As expected, Esme made herself comfortable next to me and quieted her mind by concentrating on her breathing and feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin. She enjoyed that at this altitude the sun had a chance to actually shine.

We sat there (well, Esme sat; I was still a heap at the base of the Hemlock) eerily still for so long that the forest came back to life. Usually, the inhabitants recognized the presence of a predator and the forest sounds disappeared, but the woodland creatures must have realized that the two vampires in their midst did not intend anything untoward.

In fact, I could see through Esme's thoughts that a brave (or perhaps, suicidal) chickaree squirrel was inching closer to my limp hand. I kept thinking that at some point the little animal's instincts would kick in, but the furry fool kept inching closer and closer. When it got close enough for me to feel the vibrations of its heartbeat on my fingertips, I struck.

Gently holding the squirrel, I righted myself and slowly opened my eyes. I stroked the little animal's head, feeling the incredibly soft fur and spongy body.

The feel of the delicate creature in my hands brought back foggy memories of my childhood.

Even as child it was not easy for me to make friends. I was too quiet, too serious, too introverted a child for my contemporaries to relate. In truth, I was very lonely with only music and books for companionship. Yet, the neighbor owned an aging Collie that I would pet through the slats of the fence between our houses. I remember loving that dog: the feel of his tongue on my hand; giggling when he would sniff me with his cold nose; running together along the fence. Yet, no matter how much I begged for a puppy of my own, I was told that I could not have one. My father believed it unseemly to have animals in the house.

Now, getting anywhere near an animal meant my teeth were deep in its' jugular and its blood would flow.

Suddenly, I realized that the squirrel in my hands was frozen in fear. I could see my reflection in its wide eyes: monstrous and grotesque. It did not matter that I was petting it and holding it tenderly with the utmost care; the delicate creature was horrified and repulsed by the contact.

Like Isabella would be the moment she discovered what I was.

Clenching my eyes, I lowered my hands to the mossy ground freeing the terrified rodent.

A sigh escaped me.

It was no use. No matter how much I worked to be the man she needed me to be, I would never overcome the fact that I truly wasn't a man. Though my body had embarrassingly proven today that I was not an eunuch (like my family believed me to be) and was indeed very much male, I was not a human man.

How could a human girl care for me then?

Another sigh.

I understood enough about vampire mating to know that a vampire mated with its' perfect counterpart. The bond created is perfect; as is the fit between the bonded pair.

Ying and Yang: Perfectly interlocking pieces completing a whole when united.

I also understood that this perfect bond however, did not mean that a relationship between mated vampires was without effort. A mated couple had to work at their relationship like any human couple: compromises, communication, and acceptance. The only true difference between human bonding and vampire mating was that while humans could fall "out" of love, the mating bond made the bond eternal. It was almost as if vampire mating ensured that the connection was as durable as vampires themselves.

Carlisle theorized that the union occurred at a spiritual level: The souls of the two individuals melded into a single unit and the link was always mutual. Before today, I used to scoff at this idea. I preferred to believe that there was something else that attracted a particular vampire to another, but dismissed the idea of a soul-connection. I found this impossible. Vampires lost their souls to the darkness of immortality so there was nothing left to connect to or with.

Yet today when Isabella looked into my eyes, I felt that connection first-hand.

I felt something pulling from within myself. A tugging of some unnamable part of my being which strained as it reached towards her.

It was insistent. Undeniable.

For a second, I panicked as I felt at the edge of an abyss.

Immediately, however, I understood that allowing myself to fall was imperative.

And so I did.

Words fall obscenely short of describing how it felt when I unraveled and moved across the space that separated me from her; how I felt it in my very bones when that tendril breached the gap and connected to Isabella.

I was transformed, right in the middle of Forks' High student parking lot.

Now, I felt Isabella within me as if I carried a piece of her. A constant awareness of her was nestled against the most basic part of who I was.

And so, I could not deny it any longer: Carlisle was right.

If vampires managed to regain their souls, I had found my lost one this morning.

I was humbled by whomever or whatever had created such a creature.

The thought made me lift my face towards the sky in relief and gratitude.

_Edward?_

Esme's awe wrapped itself around me like a cocoon.

She was trying valiantly to control her thoughts; attempting to give me the space for contemplation I needed. Yet, I could hear the powerful undercurrent of giddy, loving thoughts, and hopeful, half-formed prayers. I could not help the tiny reluctant smile that appeared on my face. Opening my eyes, I saw that Esme was also trying, but was failing, to contain a grin.

"Go ahead, mother."

Then, after the shortest pause, she giggled like a schoolgirl and tackled me back into the hemlock with a fierce hug.

"You found your mate." It was statement.

"Yes." I could barely get the words out; she was squeezing me with such force.

"Isabella?" She asked, pulling back and looking into my eyes.

"Yes. Isabella is my mate." She must have found whatever truth she was searching for within me, because her breath caught and her chin quivered; a Esme-precursor to tears.

"Oh, Edward. I've hoped for this moment for you for so long. So, so long," her breath hitched again. "I know that you've tried to protect me and Carlisle from the truth of how sad you've been...I know that you've been unhappy surrounded by three couples and that there have been times that you wanted to leave us. Carlisle and I both know that in many ways we have failed you and—

"Please don't think that," I tried to stop her. My loneliness was nobody's fault. "You are not responsible for my unhappiness."

"It's just that," she sighed "I do not like to admit it because I'm not supposed to play favorites, but our relationship is different than my bond with your siblings. I'm aware know that I'm not your mother…Elizabeth was and always will be. But for some reason, you have indulged me and I love you as if you truly came from me…a true son of my heart. And with that maternal love, I also feel the accompanying responsibility; the duty of a mother. A duty I have failed at, miserably. I was selfish by keeping you with us, even when I knew that it was not in your best interest. I can only imagine what it was like for you to live alone with us...I was so selfish...

"...and now, to see you so happy in spite of our inattention and our neglect, makes the true extent of your unhappiness obvious by comparison. I cannot help but think that I don't deserve your indulgence, as a good mother would've recognized your pain and acted to relieve you from the depth of your despair..." What started as anguished thoughts turned into a barrage of guilt and she began to sob.

"Please, Esme. Please, please don't do this to yourself," I begged and pulled her into a hug, but she was beyond hearing my words.

Her thoughts were a running loop of memories:

_My face, disappointed and dejected, in my hands gaily-wrapped presents for her and Carlisle, during our first Christmas in Ashland..."Edward, Esme and I will be spending Christmas out…You'll be fine on your own 'till New Years, right?"_

_Baby John as a newborn..._

_Rose and Emmett's taunting and flaunting their bordering-on-grotesque intimacy..."It's alright, Eddie. That fuckawesome visual is my gift to you. Do us all a favor and take those mental images and pull one out, alright?"_

_Baby John getting progressively ill..._

_My displacement resulting from the arrival of Alice and Jasper..."Oh, I saw that you would be fine with us taking your room since you only have the one couch, and there is only one of you so..."_

_Baby John's modest burial..._

_Couples-only holidays on Isle Esme; my eyes minutely flinching when the idea was brought up by Rosalie..."Edward can stay behind, right? Surely he can take care of the move to Ithaca on his own...Besides I think we all deserve a little privacy, for once..."_

_Baby John's empty crib..._

_Me sitting alone, barely present, while the couples danced, kissed, and laughed together. _

Year after year. Over and over and over.

Her thoughts were nothing but images of me sad, alone, and isolated while the rest of the family enjoyed time with their mates interspersed with memories of her beautiful baby...fragile, sick, and dying. It did not take a genius to see that in her mind and heart these were her greatest 'failures.' Her thoughts were anguished.

I had to say something, even if a small, irrational part of me did hold her and Carlisle somewhat responsible.

"You have always been a source of unflagging love, support, and tenderness. Even as a newborn when you struggled in this new life, you cared for me. Nobody deserves to be called a mother more than you do. You have not failed me. You've been there for me to the best of your ability; with your kindness, thoughtfulness, and love."

Her breathing was calming so I forged ahead.

"...And I really need you now more than ever; as I just happened to mate with a human...who also just happens to be my singer," I finished with some levity, releasing her from my hug.

"You never do anything halfway, do you?" she said, unconsciously wiping the phantom tears from her cheeks.

"Well, you know how I do always try to keep things intriguing..." I replied cheekily. I was happy that my reassurances were working yet I could not sustain my smile. The words 'pathetic loser' kept rushing back to me, reminding me of all my inadequacies.

"What is it, Edward?"

I didn't know where to begin to explain the depth and breadth of what I was feeling. No matter how elated I felt, how relieved, or how my insides fell full of want and lust and passion, I kept going back to the unfathomable terror. So I started there.

"I am terrified that Rose is right."

"Rose?" Esme asked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know how to be...enough; how to be sufficient, much less, worthy of Isabella. I'm afraid that Rose is right in that there is something wrong with me. That I'm...defective and unable to be a mate to anybody...That I'm too repressed, stubborn, and boring to be a suitable, desirable partner…a pathetic loser—

"No, no, no! There is _nothing_ wrong with you. You are certainly not a "loser" whatever that means. You are serious and thoughtful, curious and intelligent. There is nothing wrong with you."

"But, Esme..."

"No, and that's final. I don't want to hear you refer to yourself in such manner. Ever again." She was furious but her background thoughts told me that the anger was directed at Rosalie, not me.

Most were flashes of things (protectiveness and determination, mostly) and speeded by too quick for me to decipher. Yet, it was clear something was brewing within Esme- an underlying grim and desperate determination in her thoughts. She was on the brink of making a difficult decision regarding the state of her family; seemingly waiting for a tipping point.

_It will be up to me; Carlisle will not be able to do what is needed if it comes to that..._

I was momentarily stunned by the vehemence of her last thought...If it comes to what, Esme? I wondered.

Apparently, I took too long to respond, because next thing, her pincer-like little fingers were pinching my earlobe without mercy.

"Do you hear me, Edward? Never again. You must stop doubting yourself so. If Alice's vision comes to pass and, up to this point she's not missed anything at all, Isabella will need her mate to see her through the most trying time imaginable."

"Not the ears! Esme!" I couldn't help the whine that escaped.

I made a mental note to never again make fun of Emmett's whininess after an Esme ear-pinch attack.

"Mother, there is no need to assault me." I was clearly stalling for time, as I did not know how to say what needed to be said, and Esme knew it.

_Get on with it, Edward._ She rolled her eyes and sent me an image of herself: arms crossed, cocked eyebrow, foot tapping.

The frustration at my inability to speak my thoughts was overwhelming. I wanted to give up. Forget about Alice's instructions that this conversation needed to take place. As I was about to redirect the conversation away from my uneasiness, I felt a competing compulsion to forge ahead instead.

I somehow understood that I needed to work through my mental landmines to clear a vital path to the future, not only for my (hopefully) relationship with Isabella but also, for myself. The compulsion to continue with this painful conversation was nothing more than my very my soul reminding me that I needed to do this for our sakes.

I needed Esme's counsel.

I tried again.

"It's just difficult to..." I sighed, terrified of the vulnerability I was about to expose.

"To what, Edward?" Her tone and her pinching fingers relaxed.

"I have been lonely for so long that I feel...atrophied. Desiccated almost. I didn't realize what was happening to me until the 'process' was complete..." I was not making sense and Esme's thoughts confirmed this.

_What process?_

"It started after I returned home after my _time_ _away_. As I made the decision to return, I understood that the only way for me to be able to stay with you and Carlisle was if I learned to control my gift; at least to an extent that would allow you both some measure of privacy."

"Does that mean you learned to shut it off?" She questioned, slightly alarmed.

"No. I wish," I scoffed ruefully. "At first though, I tried to _teach_ myself to turn it off; yet, no matter what I tried, I still heard everything. Then I decided that the next best thing was to learn not to _engage_ in the thoughts of others. If I didn't actively engage, I wouldn't react, and it would be as if I didn't hear any thoughts at all." I knew that Esme was confused.

_Engage? I'm sorry, Edward, but I don't follow…_

So I tried again to explain how I set out to disconnect myself from the world around me.

"Well, if I heard an angry thought I stopped myself from feeling the anger. If the thoughts were happy, I forced myself to not feel happy," I struggled to describe the experience of my gift.

"It's like…like overhearing music coming in another room...I couldn't help hearing the notes, but I stopped myself from feeling the emotions stirred by the melody. Those "musical notes" were your thoughts and I had no right to participate in them," I sighed.

"As Rosalie and Emmett, and then Alice and Jasper, joined us, I found myself having to completely shut down. The more I closed off to the feelings produced by the thoughts of others, the harder it became to feel my _own_ emotions. The greater the demands for privacy became, the more parts of me I had to 'shut down.' It got to a point…stretches of time, weeks at a time, when I would not feel anything but the emptiness." Hearing the words out loud for the first time, describing exactly how I had hollowed myself out for my family, made my pain unmanageably real.

Yet I could not stop my confession; everything needed to be expunged like removing gangrenous tissue from a wound: barbarous but necessary.

"On top of which, I could still _hear_ the family's opinion of my emotional state, the accusations regarding my surliness and apathy, my social failures and dysfunctions...nobody understood that I was fighting to preserve my sanity and trying give what the family was ruthlessly, if tacitly, demanding of me."

The emptiness that had been my only refuge, now felt like a yoke.

"Oh, Edward. I'm so sorry..." Esme whispered, struggling to absorb the impact of my disclosure.

"It's just that...well…what I'm trying to say is that for the better part of six decades, I have felt very little; mostly anger or boredom. Until this morning, the only profound emotions I've experienced in 90 years are love for you and Carlisle, and loyalty to the rest of family. Emotionally, I am still nothing but a child. Yet, I now find myself confronted with the responsibility of Isabella's emotional wellbeing. Though, it's a responsibility I welcome with my entire being, I am clueless as to how to satisfy her emotional needs...or even if I will be able to. I fear I will fail her..."

At this her brow furrowed. "Do you want to know what I think? I think that the fact that you are this worried about Isabella's wellbeing is a clear sign that you are underestimating your own emotional maturity," she concluded kindly.

I was not convinced; it seemed obvious that the happiness of my mate would take precedence over everything else. I hated that I had to ask. I hated that I didn't know these things.

"But I thought…" I wanted to growl. The embarrassment of having to have "The Relationship Talk" with my mommy at 107-years-old made me want to pull my hair out.

"What is it, Edward?" she asked after she realized that I was not going to continue, immediately followed by… _stop pulling your pretty hair_. And as she had done for almost nine decades, she reached for my hands gripping my head and released my fingers.

"I thought that this feeling…like Isabella will _always_ be my top priority was part of the mating bond. That I feel like this because it is part of the compulsion…" I was almost sure this was the case, as I'd previously heard the same preoccupation in the thoughts of my family:

_I must plan to repaint Carlisle's office a more soothing color; a deep forest green or pewter gray, perhaps…_

_Note to self: order new Civil War books for Jazz; he's read his collection forwards and backwards… _

_Rosie will love this new carbon fiber kit for the M3's dash and console…_

_I will clear my schedule; a surprise trip to the isle will make Esme happy… _

After an interminable pause, Esme interrupted my recollection.

"There is no such thing, you know? This _compulsion_ you talk about…" She said, looking once again at the rare, clear skies.

"Of course there is. I've heard it in all your thoughts; the happiness of your mates always takes precedence over all things." I spluttered, perplexed.

"The vampire mating bond is a connection, Edward. Not a compulsion. That connection is merely the recognition of the one person, across time and space and geography, who is your perfect fit..."

"I understand that. But how does that recognition not immediately inspire a need to make one's mate completely happy?" It seemed logical that mating and loving would go hand-in-hand.

"Alright...Carlisle has a theory-

I snorted and rolled my eyes. Carlisle always _had_ a theory. Esme grinned at our inside joke at Carlisle's expense. Carlisle, for all he looked like a golden matinee idol, was really a nerd at-heart; not to say that good looks and nerdy-ness were mutually exclusive. But for us few honored by knowing him, we saw the funny absentminded-professor side his debonair appearance keeps hidden from the world. Alice called it "adorkable-ness" and said that I was the same. Absurd; there is nothing "adorable" about me.

"I know, Carlisle theorizing...a rarity to be sure...Anyhow, he and Marcus of the Volturi theorized that vampires 'ability to mate' serves a function similar to that of the coven-bond...hasn't Carlisle discussed this with you?"

After I shook my head, "He tried once, but I…it was not something I wanted to discuss, not even in theory. I wasn't as receptive as I should've been."

"You threw an 'Edward-woe-is-me' tantrum, didn't you?"

This query was obviously rhetorical and Esme did not wait for a response before she continued with my remedial education:

"Well, you know that we coven-bond with others to ensure physical survival. Well, Marcus believes that we mate-bond to ensure the possibility of emotional health for the duration of our lifespans." _An eternity alone is deadly to us, Edward._

That made sense. I had felt the sharp edge of that abyss threatening for decades. The weight of that darkness lifted the moment Isabella's soul met mine. Yet...

"So, I love Isabella because it will make help me survive? I don't know Esme, what I feel for Isabella goes beyond my needs..." I said unsure.

Esme smiled. "First of all, and please do not take this as a me second-guessing your feelings, but right now your love for Isabella comes from what she represents…the potential, if you will. The "in-love" part will come two get to know each other."

Esme was right. I grudgingly admitted to myself that I did not _really_ know Isabella: who she was as person, her likes, her dislikes, pet-peeves and quirks of personality; I only knew her as she related to me…as my mate but not yet my love. Still…

"Okay. So the "love" _will _come later. That does not explain why I feel it is essential to me that _she_ is completely happy? That _is_ more than caring for just what she represents to me." I asked still confused.

"That goes to show that for _you_, the bond has given way to something that absolutely does go beyond the mere satisfaction of _your_ emotional needs. Think about why that is, Edward."

I didn't hesitate.

This answer, I knew.

"Because Isabella is precious to me and not just because I've waited for so long for her. To see her today in that dreary parking lot...I saw a glimpse of who she is in her eyes. I saw kindness and intelligence and even humor. I know I don't truly know her yet...But I saw in her eyes a spirit that I _want_ to know. I have no words to explain what she means to me...She's everything...she deserves the world only because she exists as she is..."

Esme's soft smile grew and then dimmed. "It is the same for me. Imagine if Carlisle had not been turned. I would've been born, lived, and died almost 300 years after his lifetime without ever knowing him. Carlisle would've been lost to me; swallowed by time and history," she paused, her brow furrowing. "I would've never gotten the chance to know him; his goodness, his fairness, the wisdom and patience that he carries, his giving soul. I would've never received the privilege to know what I immediately recognized when I bonded with him..." The mere thought of this alternative universe made Esme's thoughts ripple in pain.

Yet, she continued. "So like you and I, some of us immediately recognize not only our mates, but also how great a privilege it is to be afforded the opportunity to spend any measure of time with that person that is your perfect complement. And with privileges come responsibilities. For that reason…because it is such a great privilege to be with them we want to ensure that the person is completely happy. It goes beyond what we can _gain_ from the bond. It goes beyond the mere preservation of our emotional wellbeing."

Esme was right. It _was_ something more.

"However, that is not the case for all mated vampires. Do not confuse recognition of a mate with unselfish commitment to that person," she warned. "There is a difference between being with a mate because it protects you from eternal loneliness and loving a mate because of who he or she is as an individual."

"How can somebody mate and not love unselfishly?" I asked; all embarrassment about having a talk about "girls" with my "mommy" was gone.

I needed to understand this and Esme was one half of the purest, most loving pairs I'd ever encountered.

She understood love.

"Think about Marcus's theory, Edward: It _never_ mentions love. Some mated vampires, for whatever reason, use the mating bond, the recognition of mate, only for what the connection affords them or whatever gains they might obtain from being mated. But they never see it as the privilege it is." Esme said with an uncharacteristic sneer in her voice that bled into her thoughts.

_Some vampires use their mates to feel less lonely, to pass time, to mitigate what they believe is a life that is somehow less of what was owed to them, without thought or preoccupation of providing the same for their soul companions. You've heard _her_ thoughts, Edward. You know of whom I speak. _

"Rosalie?" I guessed.

"Yes..." Esme's thoughts once again veered towards that cryptic, upcoming decision that she felt was going to be inevitable.

"But...but she loves Emmett. Right?" Before today, my assumption was that they had to love each other because they were mates. Now, in light of Esme's explanations, I wasn't so sure.

"I'm not the empath of the family…but, I think she does. In her own way. Maybe. You better than anyone knows how she thinks about him; we all see how she treats him." Coldness seeped into her voice.

"As a bad consolation prize..." I murmured, unintentionally repeating out loud one of Rosalie's most private thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Esme wince.

"I try to not delve into her mind, Esme. It is not a pleasant place." I tried to explain and redirect the conversation.

"I imagine it isn't. But you _are_ right about her and Emmett, which means you know the difference between what mating can be for others, and what it will be for you and Isabella." She said conclusively and looked deeply into my eyes.

I could see happiness there, but the light in her darkened once again.

"Esme, what is going on with Rosalie? You've been thinking about a decision—

I didn't even finish my sentence before an iron curtain fell over her thoughts leaving her mind blank.

The family could do this for brief of periods of time with varying degrees of success. Carlisle had taught all of them his technique to clear the mind. Emmett could barely do it for a second (I was sure he suffered from vampire ADHD). On the other hand, Carlisle could block me seemingly indefinitely; he never bothered, unless he had something to hide (which was rare). Like say, the imminent arrival of my mate in the form of my singer...that reminded me; he and I needed to have a little talk about that, I mentally huffed.

Yet, as bizarre as it felt to be confronted by sudden, complete mental silence, it was understood that when a family member exercised the 'iron curtain' trick it was absolute request for privacy.

"I'll drop it," I promised.

"Thank you, Edward. I'm just not ready to discuss the specifics yet," she explained.

"I understand. And as for feeling the difference this morning, you're right, I did. Though there are no guarantees as to how mating with a human will work, I am positive that aside from feeling the soul-recognition, I also felt Isabella's caring...Esme, Jasper will need to confirm it, but to me it felt as intense as my devotion for her."

I was sure of this.

There were deer east of our location. I decided, however, that tonight deer would not do. So I would once again follow Alice's "suggestion" and hunt deeper into the park in preparation for meeting Isabella tomorrow. The thought made me grin.

Esme did not hesitate. "I don't doubt it that she already feels for you. Even though you've never believed it, you _do_ have an overwhelmingly good soul, Edward. I am sure that when your souls connected that was the first thing she sensed, your goodness. Like I did with Carlisle..." she paused, and with her hand on my cheek she gently turned my head to face her, "…son, you expressed concerns about failing Isabella, about not being enough for her…I know that your opinion of yourself is very poor; that some of your siblings, and Carlisle and me by not intervening, have contributed to your insecurities and poor opinion. But I beg you to consider the source..." she pleaded, as she held my hands.

"I'm not sure what you mean..." I was trying to make sense of the battle going on inside Esme's head.

"I said that I wasn't ready to discuss the specifics of what I'm sure you've heard in my mind...However, when I say that you must consider the source, what I mean is that Rose and indirectly, Emmett, made you a target for their own frustrations. I know that you avoid their thoughts, but please, you _must_ see that you are not the monster that they both have made you feel like for so many years..." Esme pleaded.

"Esme, I _do_ know that Rosalie blames me for pretty much everything that has gone wrong in her life. And Emmett joins in because it makes Rosalie happy, I guess. I've never quite understood the reasons why...but you know what?" I asked rhetorically as I righted my legs. I didn't want to talk about Rose anymore. I decided that for once, this time was to be all about me and Isabella.

I unfolded myself from the ground and stood. My eyes followed the straight, proud line of the Hemlock trunk reaching towards the sky. Everything seemed so obvious now. "It doesn't really matter anymore..."

"What doesn't matter, Edward?" she questioned curious.

"Rosalie's opinion of me. Or Emmett's. The only opinion that matters regarding my suitability as a mate is Isabella's."

I saw it all now. All the times I was subjected to Rose's disdain, her insults, her hate. Every time Emmett mocked my lack sexual drive, my inexperience, what he thought was my lack of true masculinity. All those times, they were redirecting their pain; they were projecting how the felt about themselves and their crumbling relationship onto me. I had made myself into an easy target by carving myself hollow and making myself so very insignificant. I also carried so much guilt over my time away from the family that I felt I deserved whatever came my way: the loneliness, the jeers, the isolation. It was all part of the atonement for my sins. My penance.

Even as I rushed home from school this morning, when the reality of Isabella's soul resting within me was _all_ I could feel, I still had doubts. The last thing I wanted was for Isabella to be beholden to me due to some metaphysical obligation robbing her of her choices. A small part of me still believed that Isabella could only love me because of the mating-bond. And I found that possibility to be heart-breaking.

I had come face-to-face with my deepest desire: I wanted to be wanted and loved for who I was, despite of my shortcomings. I wanted someone to choose _me_. Freely. I wanted to be good enough to be chosen. I didn't want to be a consolation price. And even more importantly, after decades of numbness, I wanted to fall in love with and then love Isabella fiercely for the rest of my days. I wanted to give myself fully.

And even if Isabella chose differently, I would learn to be whatever she wanted or needed.

Esme _was_ right. Though the line between being wanted and being needed was thin indeed, the two were as different as night and day.

"It sounds funny to say, but at over a century old, I am still very young. I know it is more than likely that I'll make mistakes. I know that I have a lot to learn and a lot to experience. But Esme, this morning's events..." The epiphany stole my breath away.

I had to fist at hand over my heart and press against my chest, or the dead lump of muscle would've surely burst from my chest.

"Feeling this has made me realize that I am not defective or pathetic. And if I was boring and repressed it was because I had not yet found Isabella. I was empty and I allowed others to use that emptiness to deal with their own pain. And the emptier I was, the less human I became. I've realized that I was indeed an abomination, a monster, not because I am a vampire, but because I couldn't _feel_."

Esme simply smiled and opened her arms. As I stepped into her hug, she asked, "And now?"

Squeezing and breathing in that 'mom-scent' she seemed to carry around since the very beginning, I responded. "Now? With Isabella, I feel everything. I'll learn to be what I need to be with her. For her. And for myself."

* * *

As I ran out of the tree line and walked into the back garden of our home, my mind was full of Edward, Isabella, and the millions of decisions and events that lead all of us to this _very_ moment. The sheer magnitude of alternative possibilities was an abyss. The risk that we could've missed a turn, a sign, something as simple as Carlisle choosing to take the train somewhere other than Chicago in 1916, or selecting a position as a doctor in a different hospital, never meeting Elizabeth Masen, never turning Edward. It was all so tenuous, so very delicate, that I had to take a moment to center myself.

Closing my eyes, I focused. Just past the garden was the river.

The tinkling water reminded me of Alice. The deep current was Jasper. The unmovable boulders hugging the riverbed were Emmett. The foaming whitewater was Rosalie. The old-growth forest canopy was Carlisle. The rapids that rushed by were Edward. And I hoped, wished, and prayed that Isabella became the calm pools were Edward could finally rest.

Despite everything that could've gone wrong we were here.

Together.

After taking a final focused breath, I relaxed.

The sound of Carlisle's Mercedes speeding down the driveway towards the house broke through the fog of thoughts.

For the past month, instead of his typical 12-hour overnight shift, Carlisle had been working the 8-hour day shift, from 6:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Now it was clear to me that the reason for this change in his normal work routine was likely so he could attend to Isabella when the events that Alice foresaw began to occur.

So, if Carlisle was on his way home, that meant that I must have wandered in the forest for hours after Edward left for his hunting trip deep in the Olympic National Forest. A quick look at my watch confirmed that I'd had indeed roamed unaware of the time.

By the time the sleek, black car came to a complete stop, I was standing by the car door. No sooner was Carlisle clear of the vehicle I rushed into his arms. I couldn't vocalize what I was feeling. I didn't know how to begin to describe what I'd just witnessed in the face of our dear son. Pressing my face into his chest, I murmured: "Oh Carlisle..."

I felt, rather than heard, Carlisle's quiet question. "So you know, then?"

I nodded into his chest. "He came directly home. We went for a run. We talked."

Looking up into Carlisle's eyes, I could see the concern combined with the happiness. "How is he?"

"He is...I don't know how to describe it. Edward is...Carlisle, I…I think that after 91 years, I just met the real Edward. Like I just saw for the first time the young man he was supposed to be all along. And now, all of the sudden he just _is_. It's amazing, Carlisle." I felt tears that would never fall pool in my eyes.

My husband was a beautiful man, but when he smiled, he was devastating. "I can't wait to speak with him."

And then he said nothing else.

I waited. He walked to the trunk and removed his computer bag and some files.

I crossed my arms, still waiting.

He moseyed towards the house.

I knew Isabella had gone to the ER.

Carlisle had met her.

And he was withholding information.

Vital information.

Information that I needed.

Right now.

And Carlisle knew this.

Grinning, he asked: "Dear, are you coming?"

When he heard my exasperated growl, he tried valiantly to erase the smirk from his face. Yet, he did not lower the hand he'd offered. Sighing at his impossible-to-resist, childlike teasing, I capitulated. I took his proffered hand and we walked up the front steps.

I knew he was waiting for me to ask. At this point, I could feel his shoulders shaking in suppressed chortles.

"Oh my word, Carlisle! Fine! You win!" I couldn't help but mirror his grin. "…Isabella?"

Turning to face me after closing the coat closet door, he held my hands. Squeezing rhythmically, gently, much like his son had done a few short hours before, he whispered: "She's perfect, Esme. And she's perfect for him."

"Really? Do you think she'll accept the mate-bond? Do you think she'll be able to love him? Accept us?" I rambled following after him.

Loosening his silk tie and sitting down on the couch, he looked me in the eye. He was serious and thoughtful and a little apprehensive.

"Yes, really..." he paused. Then a new resolve solidified in his eyes. "As a matter of fact, Isabella already knows about us." He said directly and without fear.

I dropped next to him onto the sofa, my legs unable to hold me up. "How?! Did you...? How could she...?! Carlisle, did you tell her?" I gasped.

"No…She just _knew_, Es. I don't know how…perhaps, the soul-connection gave her some insight? Remember, we've never observed the full creation of the mating bond between a human and a vampire from the human's perspective."

This was true. Though I first met Carlisle as a sixteen-year old human girl, I knew that I did not connect with him in the way mates bond with one another during that first encounter. I clearly remember being fascinated by the handsome doctor, but merely in the manner of a young girl infatuated with the dream-like figure he presented amidst an ordinary life.

As if reading my thoughts, Carlisle continued. "When I first met you, I felt immediately drawn to you, but since we did not share the experience as Marcus described it to me, I attributed my fascination to admiration for your courage and good humor. I also felt like a letch for admiring your beauty…young as you were, I convinced myself that I was being entirely inappropriate. With the move to Chicago, the epidemic, Edward's change and his newborn years, I somewhat successfully put thoughts about you out of my mind." At that he winced.

Knowing Carlisle, he was probably thinking about my life during that time: My marriage, my pain, and the loss of my child.

"It was not until I saw you broken and on the brink of death that my feelings for you resurfaced. I did not know why but you could not die…and then when you opened your eyes, I understood." He stated. After all these years, his voice still filled with awe when he recounts our beginning.

He leaned in and kissed me. It always felt both, new like the first time he did this, and familiar, like we'd been kissing since the beginning of time.

After a moment, he continued quietly: "So I can only speculate, Esme. But the truth is that God-only-knows what metaphysical pathways have just been opened within the girl. I also suspect that Bella's mind works very differently from other humans; the leaps she makes and the connections she sees are impressive…In any event, she just knew. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she called me out as a vampire in the middle of exam room #3. Shocked me to death."

I smirked. It was always amusing to hear Carlisle use such expressions. Even after so many years walking this Earth, all he had seen and done, he was still so very human.

"You know what I mean," he amended sheepishly. Once again, my thoughts must have been clear on my face.

After kissing me one more time, he continued. "As far as caring for Edward, I would bet anything she does already. Or is well way on her way to falling...She's certainly more than interested."

"She outright said so?" I asked shocked.

"Well, no. But when I mentioned Edward, her body," he cleared his throat and examined his cufflinks suddenly embarrassed, "...reacted."

"Oh." Poor girl. Yet…more power to her.

"Yes." He responded pensively. "It makes me wonder."

A little line appeared between his eyebrows, a clear indicator of yet another Carlisle-hypothesizing-episode, so I pro-forma, prompted him: "What is it, dear?"

"I've often wondered why we did not experience the bonding the first time we met…what changed in those intervening ten years?" The line deepened and he pursed his lips.

Clear signs he was in full-blown theorizing mode.

"Maybe we were not ready for the connection then." I tried in vain to remember how and who I was a sixteen year old.

"Perhaps. Though I'm certain that I was emotionally ready for companionship, we have no way to ascertain whether you were even capable at that age to be in the right emotional frame of mind to accept such a connection." Frustration seeped into his voice. He truly disliked not being able to figure things out.

"Or maybe it was a matter of physical readiness, Carlisle." I posited.

His head snapped up. "You mean sexual maturity?"

"Maybe. You know how you've always mentioned the strange connection between Demetri and Jane…and how Marcus described their bond as 'unripe.' You have to admit, is a very strange way for a vampire to refer to anything, much less a bond between two vampires. Maybe that was what Marcus was referring to…" I was no expert and my ideas were pure conjecture, but this notion felt _right_.

"Yes, I always found that to be strange, even for Marcus." Nodding, he mused. "I always thought he meant that something had gone wrong with the relationship after the bonding occurred or that Jane's talent somehow inhibited the connection…even when she is not focusing her power on a particular target, she still exudes a kind of…generalized repellant energy." A slight shudder ran across his broad shoulders.

"That seems possible. However, think about it Carlisle…it is more likely that what Marcus meant was that they were joined but separated by the fact that something was not sufficiently mature. And you've described Jane as changed when very young." I left it that.

"Hmm. Jane physically appears to be between 12 and 14; certainly pre-menarche…Esme, do you remember when you…well, you know?" Carlisle stuttered a bit. It was quite humorous to see that even vampires, who happened to be doctors, weren't immune to man's inability to maturely discuss a woman's menstrual cycle without being reduced to embarrassed, adolescent stammering.

"I'm not real clear on the dates; but I think I remember eavesdropping on my parents while they were discussing a possible suitor for me around the time I first met you. I remember my mother arguing that I was 'not ready to be a wife' and that any arrangement should wait. I wondered at the time why mother would risk father's ire to say such a thing. And I do remember being a very, very late bloomer…" I still smarted when I remembered the teasing from my sisters, and my mother berating my tomboyish behaviors.

"Yes, you've mentioned that your sisters made fun of you…So, you think that your marriage was postponed until you…" Again, Carlisle found his cuticles fascinating.

"…Became a woman, yes; which must have happened relatively soon after our first meeting, as my engagement was announced no more than a year later. I was married two weeks after my eighteenth birthday." I felt Carlisle's arm around my shoulders in support. I wondered how much time would need to pass before remembering that horrible time would hurt even a fraction less than it did.

Shaking the pain away, I concluded. "So, Jane was changed too young for her to fully mate-bond with Demetri."

Nodding lost in his thoughts, he followed: "That makes sense. We are all aware that there is a strong sexual component to mating…"

"Is that why you've always been so concerned that Edward was changed too young? Why he never demonstrated any interest in the opposite sex?" I knew Carlisle despaired due to Edward's loneliness.

"Yes…I've also entertained the idea perhaps that it was a matter of sexuality." Carlisle confessed.

"You thought Edward might have been gay?" I asked surprised.

As much as Emmett teased him, I never considered this to be a possibility. True, Edward was gentle, well mannered, and well bred; but I always attributed that to post-Victorian rules of social conduct and the Masens' socioeconomic status.

"I know, Es. I know! Seems extremely silly now and I never gave the theory serious consideration. Plus, you know what they say about hindsight…" He finished sheepishly.

I decided to throw my poor husband a rope: "Not that there would be anything wrong if Edward happened to be gay, but it should've been obvious that he wasn't too young…_or_ gay. Carlisle, that is just who Edward _is_: courteous, respectful-to-a-fault, and a true romantic. Which all combined made him virtually incapable to be with anybody but his true mate. And now he's found Isabella, and from what he described they are truly connected. So stop stalling Carlisle and tell me what happened."

And Carlisle did. He explained in detail his astonishing conversation with Isabella. He described her forest-and-trees analogy, her instincts, her faith and trust, her pain, the need he felt from her for simple kindness, the obvious family issues, her quirky thought-process, her humor and wit, her intelligence and erudition, and the hope he perceived from her at their parting.

"She does sound like a perfect match for him." A part of me was greatly relieved. Edward was so special. He deserved somebody just as good as he was.

"Would you like to meet her?" Carlisle's voice interrupted my musings.

"Of course, I would like to meet her." I immediately started to plan. "Maybe if things go well between her and Edward we could have him invite her over for dinner one of these days—

"I meant now," Carlisle interjected excitedly. "Would like to go meet Isabella, now?"

"What? Yes. Oh yes. But how?" I was prepared to wait before I had the opportunity to meet her. So meeting her so soon was the best kind of surprise.

"Alice called indicating that Isabella would be at work today, even though her _doctor_ told her she should be resting...and that it would be a perfect chance for them to officially be introduced by yours truly, as I promised Isabella I would do." I had to laugh at Carlisle's smug grin.

Yet, the mention of her injury was sobering and my concerned spiked: "Is Isabella alright? Edward said that she was assaulted by that Mallory girl."

"She will be fine, Es. However, she really should be in bed, and enjoying the effects of the medication I prescribed for her. Per Alice, it appears that she is working a short shift at Cora's dinner, against the advice of her physician." He grumbled.

If this was an indication of her will, Isabella would give us a run for our money.

"Won't it be strange that we meet her before Edward does?" I knew how newly mated vampires were and we needed to tread carefully.

The words were not completely out of my mouth before Carlisle's iPhone vibrated in his pocket.

"According to Alice, and I quote: '**Won't b weir meet d 'rents. Go 2 diner. Me + Jazz meet u after skool. IS will totes 3 u.**' End quote. What does 'less than three' mean?" Carlisle groused.

Looking at the screen, I had to laugh. "Dear, I think that is a heart. Alice is saying that Isabella will love us."

Carlisle first harrumphed and then whined. "She uses a numerical two for the preposition 'to,' Es. How am I supposed to read her communications? It is not proper English."

In his irritation, his British accent bled through making his complaining sound like "propah' English," which made me giggle even harder.

The phone vibrated again and I could see the message:

**Get wit d program, dude. C u laters. **

**XOXO A-**

Ignoring my laughter and his daughter's attitude, he continued: "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—

Right on cue the phone vibrated again, but he pointedly ignored it.

"…I promised Isabella that I would introduce her to Alice, as Alice had expressed interest in becoming her friend. Thus, Alice and Jasper will meet us there after a bit, just like Alice oh-so-eloquently stated." Then, knowing that Alice would see, he very deliberately shut down his cellphone, smiling the entire time.

Immediately, the house phone began ringing.

I could only laugh at the craziness of this, my family.

I stood up without another word and sauntered towards the door. "Well, what are you waiting for Carlisle? Let's go meet our Isabella."

**A/N Part Deux:** So everybody aboard the Rose-hate-train…yes? Well, let me say this, more than "get hers", my Rose LEARNS…which I think is better.


	7. Chapter 7

Legal wa-wa: I don't own Twilight…but I own this story.

**A/N**: Like always, no Beta, but that is changing soon! The thing is that working with a Beta will take some adjustment, so Chapter 8 will post two weeks from today (instead of the weekly schedule I've been carrying on until now). However, I will try to get back to a weekly posting schedule after the Beta-Maruxf process gets ironed out. *Cross fingers*

As to chapter 7- Another long one; longest one, actually. Hope you enjoy it. Thank you all for all the reviews and your support. It's been amazing to be on the receiving end of your love (…that's what she said(?)). Thank you all for taking the time to read this. I know that there are easier stories out there, so: Thanks! Gracias! Danke! Baie dankie, Chokran, Xiexie, Merci, Grazzie, Arigato, Takk, Tack, Dzieki, Muito agradecida, Spasibo, Asante, and Ngiyabonga.

**Chapter 7: The Blue Plate Special**

Thank god for Carlisle Cullen.

The eyeglasses he "found" for me were a million times better than my old ones.

"_Found_ them. Ha!"

If that old tree thinks I don't know he knew beforehand that the glasses in the purple case were going to fit me perfectly, not only in style but also in function, he has one thing coming.

Well, not really.

I mean…he _is_ a vampire after all. And my expertise on the subject does not go beyond Shelley, Buffy, some Ann Rice, and…Mr. Pitt's interview, for that matter. Yet solely based on my limited, fictional know-how, I'm almost positive I wouldn't be able to do much damage (unless one could nag a vampire to death that is). I can always try staking him Buffy-style, but this is _moi_ we are talking about. I would probably catch a splinter that would then get infected and kill me. Or something.

But I digress: How did he know the perfect pair of specs would be waiting for me?

He couldn't have known. Yet, it was _all_ over his smirky, movie star face.

He totally knew.

That was as obvious as the designer frames sitting on my face. Oh yeah, 'cause I googled "Oliver Peoples" (with an 's' of course) from the diner's prehistoric PC, and there they were: Almost four hundred dollars designer frames.

My old glasses came from the donation bin at the local LensCrafters store in Phoenix. Four years ago.

Right.

So, four hundred dollars. Not a scratch on them. Perfect prescription lenses. Rare designer item…in Forks.

Of course.

Absolutely nothing bizarre or extraordinary about that, I harrumphed.

So _he_ must have had something to do with the glasses just happening to be at the lost-and-found of the ER waiting for me. Therefore, he must have known about me.

Specifically, about me falling.

About me needing the eyeglasses.

He knew about me coming to his ER before I got there because his daughter, Alice, called him.

But the school is about 2 miles from the hospital (in Bella-truck time, roughly 7 minutes away). Obviously not enough time to plan and plant the darned, expensive, beautifully perfect things in the dusty lost-and-found bin of the hospital. Yet...

Alice informed him I was coming.

Alice, the fashion plate.

Alice, so effortlessly stylish she made Anna Wintour cower and fashion mavens wilt in her wake.

Alice knew. In advance.

Is it possible Alice _literally_ saw me coming?

Could she have ESP, or crystal-ball-see, or have future visions, or do some weird, time-travel translocation?

Is that a vampire thing or—

"Bella, honey, I think that dispenser is pretty full already…"

Cora's voice snapped me out of yet another Cullen-induced trance.

Noticing the sugar overflowing the dispenser, I groaned.

"That must've been some daydream," Cora said as she handed me damp towel.

"Sorry. I'm just distracted." I couldn't explain it. But I felt like my brain had been opened up to all these new things. I'd become a short-wave radio tuned in to all frequencies at once.

"Is it a boy? Oh, tell me, tell me, tell me…" She was smiling. And I could hear the schoolgirl glee in her voice.

This was what I had come to love about Cora in such a short time. She was fifty-something going on thirteen. My first week here, I found her squealing over the "of-the-moment" young adult novel about the cute zombie boy and his human love. She was "Team Zombie" and I was sternly informed that "Team Human Boyfriend" was not allowed in the diner. So yeah, Cora was a middle-aged tweener.

"…Well, is it a boy?"

There was no way to get out this. I could lie relatively well. I had to learn that skill to survive a childhood in the care of Renee Higginbotham Swan. Yet, my skills did not seem to work when Cora gave me the look.

The look that she was giving me right now.

Crap.

"Um…well, maybe. I think. I'm not sure…Uh…" I sounded like I was brain damaged. Sheesh.

Taking a deep breath and putting on my proverbial big girl undies, I told her everything. The bullying, Lauren, the puddle, my tears, everything. Except for the part of me hearing, what I was now absolutely sure, was _his_ voice inside my head.

Or the vampire-family-in-Forks thing.

"And then I looked up and he was looking back at me and we had a…" I once again pondered what to call the thing in the parking lot, "…moment. But before you go nuts, he and I haven't even spoken to each other. Cora stop that!"

At some point, she had partially climbed over the counter and started poking me and squealing. I couldn't concentrate if she was going to keep going on like that.

"Fine, I'll be good." She climbed back down and folded her hands primly on the worn Formica countertop. Right, as if that would fool anybody who knew her.

"Um…it was weird. Like I said, we haven't had actual interaction. I could very well have imagined the entire thing." I was fairly certain I had not. Yet, the possibility was paralyzing.

And the only reason I could think of that could explain the fear was the very real fact that I was more than halfway gone for Edward Cullen.

A vampire with crazy, confused hair color.

A vampire with crazy, confused hair color, with whom I'd had not exchanged a _single_ word.

I giggled on the inside.

"It is so nice to see you smile like that." Once again, Cora's voice brought me back to reality.

"So long as this still-unidentified boy keeps you smiling like that, I'm all for him. The moment he doesn't treat you right, baby-girl, you tell me and I'll call my cousin, Dez, you know…the one that did time for assault-and-battery, and he'll teach that boy some manners…" she huffed. Totally serious.

I let the giggle escape.

"You think I'm joking…you know what? I'm going to call up crazy Dez anyway. Let'im have a practice run with that Lauren. Next time she shows up here, you let me know, and I'll take the table, you hear? I cannot believe that little no-good, whoreba—

Cora's rant screeched to a halt. When I looked at her, she was staring over my shoulder in the direction of the door to the dining area with her mouth gaping open.

I didn't even have to turn around. Somehow, I just knew.

A second later the silver bell over the door tinkled.

* * *

Placing the car in park, I stared at the entrance to Fork's Diner.

The silence inside the car was oppressive.

"I'm nervous." Esme's quiet voice broke through my contemplation.

"Me too." I confessed.

Another four minutes passed in silence.

Then, the love of my life laughed. It started as the smallest of giggles and kept growing until she could barely stop guffawing.

"Look at us, Carlisle. Two vampires with about 470 years of combined life experience and we are absolutely terrified of a seventeen-year-old human girl." She said smiling and reaching for my hand.

I thought about responding with some platitude or a joke; but looking at our entwined fingers made me say what I hid deep within my heart.

"I sometimes close my eyes and I see our children, Es. Ours…I see them as I imagine they would have been; I see you carry them within; I see them being born, learning to walk and talk, playing in the sun with your hair and the shape of my eyes. It eats at my very soul that I fail you in this way."

"Carlisle…" She sighed.

Looking into her eyes I continued, "I don't understand the reason why this moment feels as close as I'll be able to give you your own…our own child. It makes no sense, I know. We have five of them already. And Bella is no babe. But this feels different; it feels like the real thing…" I trailed off.

The green numbers of the dashboard clock ticked in a new minute. And then another.

"I see them too. Sometimes. Blond and rosy. Perhaps, blue-eyed…" Esme whispered her quiet fantasy to me.

"…Yet, even if I was able to go back in time and change the past, I would not do so. I would not have met you if you were not turned. Had you not found me, our family would not exist. I would be in the ground next to my baby that I adored but was not meant to be. I would be there, forever in the dark. I was trapped, my baby was dead, and there was no way out for me. Yet you did find me and in you, I found the life I was meant for…" she stated resolutely.

Then her voice softened and she continued, "As wonderful as the dream is, my darling, the reality you give me is so much richer. Rejecting the gift of your love by wishing for something impossible would be a tragedy."

I nodded. She was right of course.

"As for why this feels different, perhaps it is because this girl truly needs to be loved and cared for in a way none of the others have. Or maybe, it is because we have waited for so long for our family to be complete. But, Carlisle, does the reason why this feels different really matter?" She questioned.

Again, she was right.

"No. It does not." I felt the smile break on my face as I moved to get out of the car. "Come on, my love. Let me introduce you to our Bella."

* * *

A stampede of pink and purple unicorns pooping rainbows all over Forks' main street would've gathered _less_ attention than Carlisle and (whom I assumed was) Mrs. Cullen walking through the dining area of Cora's diner, straight towards me. Not that the diner was terribly busy, but still…it got so quiet the only sound to be heard was the hot oil bubbling in the deep fryer and the ancient soft-serve ice cream machine churning away in the corner. I was pretty positive that nobody in the joint was breathing. A fact that became more than clear, when Carlisle Cullen's voice interrupted my reverie.

"I believe last time we spoke, we had agreed that you would be taking the rest of the day to relax." Looking up, I could see he was wearing his half-smirky, half-scowly-doctor face. "You need to breathe, Bella." Okay, _that_ was said with the full-on smirk.

I had to take a gulp of air, before responding. Yup. Nobody had been breathing. Not even me.

"Um, well, I…"

I might as well grunt like a Neanderthal. Millions of years of _Homo_ _sapiens_ evolution were clearly wasted on me. The "render-Bella-dumb" ability these Cullens seemed to have was infuriating. Not to mention that I had not _agreed_ to staying…

"…anywhere. You, Dr. Old Tree, merely _suggested_ I go home and rest. I decided otherwise. There was no so-called agreement reached; there was no "meeting of the minds" or acceptance of your suggestion-slash-offer. Therefore, I'm here. Working. So there…"

After I finished my rant, I realized two things: One, I need to stop watching 'Ally McBeal' and 'Law & Order' reruns after Charlie passed out per his regularly scheduled stupor. Two, it was imperative that I find a way to reconcile my inside voice with my outside voice. Looking up I could see the half smirk was now a full-blown one. Good Lord, that only meant one thing—

"I said that out-loud, didn't I?"

Oh my God, I was going to die from this blush. I would feel my entire face on fire. The embarrassment was so deep that I felt my eyes begin to burn. After 17 years of fairly regular embarrassment, I should be used to the feeling…and for the most part, I managed to weave my way through life without really caring what people thought about me. Like this morning's incident, I cried not because I cared what the idiots at school thought or said, but because I am exhausted of all the crap. Of all the fear.

Yet something in my gut told me that these…erm, people, currently standing in front of me were going to be fundamental in my life. In fact, they already were. So verbal a spew-age attack was not the impression I wanted to make, hence the tears that flooded my vision.

"I am so sorry…I don't...I didn't mean…to say that…well, I did mean it, but didn't mean to actually say it…out-loud I mean. Crap," I sniffed.

"Oh, honey. Please don't be embarrassed. Once you get to know our Emmett, you'll see that very little fazes us." A sweet voice said.

Looking up, I noticed that the beautiful woman clutching Dr. Stoker's hand had the most blinding smile. Vampire teeth all a-gleaming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I felt Cora take a full step back even though she was on the _other_ side of the serving counter.

Which was strange.

I mean, _sure_…the teeth in question were really white and really shiny; and in the back of my mind I knew (sort of) what they could do to the human juice-boxes walking around everywhere. But for some reason, I just didn't feel whatever it was that made Cora inch away from them.

If anything, I wanted to get closer to Mrs. Cullen. In her eyes, I could see the same thing I saw in Dr. C's during my highly embarrassing ER visit this morning: Safety.

She, however, had something extra. I recognized what it was because I grew up yearning for somebody to look at me that way. With Renee as a mother, it was that look that I asked Santa for, wished on fallen eyelashes and begged shooting stars. That look was full of pure, unadulterated, mother's love.

And it was directed at me. _Me_!

And for a second there, I lost myself, forgot the verbal diarrhea attack and my embarrassment. I smiled back.

"You must be Isabella," she said. "I'm Esme Cullen. Carlisle's wife."

I noticed that her hands twitched and her entire body leaned forward, only stopping short at the last second.

Her smiled dimmed.

She wanted to hug me.

And it made me profoundly sad that she stopped herself…that her smile dimmed like that. I missed the hug she almost gave me.

So without thinking too much about it, I took a step closer and grabbed both her hands.

"Hi, Mrs. Cullen. Please call me Bella." I said and gave her hands a bit of a squeeze.

Her hands were small and hard. The skin was very smooth. Underneath, her muscles were pliable but harder than normal, and the structures underneath those muscles felt like pure steel. Yet when she squeezed my hands back, there was only profound tenderness in the gesture. I also noticed that her hands were a bit chilly, not ice cold like I thought Dr. Cullen's hands felt like in the ER. I wondered about that, but made a mental note to find out the answer later.

"Oh, Bella. It's so nice to finally meet you. Please call me Esme." She said with her full-on smile blazing.

All those vampy teeth must have been too much for Cora because she finally unfroze.

"Bella, table seven is open for Doctor and Mrs. Cullen."

Cora all but shoved two menus my way before scampering away to the kitchen.

"Um, yes. Table seven. This way."

When we got the table, I was unsure what to do about the menus. I mean, the diner had varied selection but I was pretty sure we did not have any O-Neg on hand.

"So, would you like to see the…um...menu?" I was really struggling with proper vampire etiquette.

Dr. C turned to Esme, who had not stopped smiling at me and asked: "What would you like, dear?"

"I think I will have coffee and pie. Apple pie, if you have it," Esme said without missing a beat. Like ordering apple pie was an every day occurrence.

"…and I'll have the same." Doctor Carlisle said, smiling at me.

"Really?!" I spluttered.

Once again, my brain had gone rogue and hijacked my mouth.

"Yes, pie and coffee. No cream or sugar." Doctor Cullen responded between poorly concealed chortles.

I had to admit that he was really good at taking my crazy in stride. I hoped this boded well for future Bella-Cullen family relations.

Oh, _how_ I hoped because Bronze had seriously done something to my heart and soul that was permanent.

After God knows how long, I realized I was standing there holding the menus with what probably was the silliest moony face ever and that both Cullens were smiling as if they knew exactly what was transpiring inside my brain.

The collective power of those two smiles mesmerized me and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Right. Pie. Coffee. I'll be right back." When I turned to get the Cullen's order, I noticed that every eye in the joint was set on table seven; which was, by the way, the booth farthest away from where the rest of the patrons were seated. I was sure that it was no coincidence that Cora had chosen that table as the Cullen's table. Apparently, it was perfectly fine to ogle at the beautiful Cullens so long as they were not too close to the general population. For some reason, having the town treat the Cullens like a zoo exhibit pissed me off. So I stalked off, giving my nastiest stink-eye-slash-bitch-brow to the gawkers, which included Cora.

Most of them had the decency to look away. But not all.

"Cora, I'm taking my break." I huffed.

Her head snapped in my direction, breaking her Cullen-staring moment, surprise showing on her face. It was the first time I had used that tone of voice with her.

Without waiting for her answer I grabbed the pies and coffee I'd poured and turned towards table seven.

Perhaps it was presumptuous of me but I decided that for once I was going to be bold. I felt it in my gut that the Cullens were here to see _me_. I was not going to go my usual route of doubt and insecurity.

I had a 30 minute break and 10 minutes of peace before the school day finished; which meant that Forks High would invariably spew from its bowels all its' asshats directly into the diner. So, I was going to spend the few minutes of tranquility I had before _that_ happened getting to know the only good people in this stupid little town worth knowing at all.

* * *

I was staring at Esme. Even all our time together, I regularly found myself needing to simply _look_ at her.

Today in particular, she was as radiant as she was nervous; which was, from all appearances, quite a lot.

Her knee was bouncing; marking a rhythm that made the entire booth shake. It was one of the mannerisms she had carried over from her human days. To me, it was adorable.

It was also telling of how invested she was already. It did not take 90 years of marriage to understand that Bella's simple gesture, her reaching out in greeting and holding my wife's hands, had stripped something bare within Esme.

Suddenly, the vibration cut off.

"She looks uncomfortable, Carlisle. Maybe it was not a good idea for us to come…" Anxiety coated her every word.

Turning my attention to Bella, I saw that Esme was correct. It was obvious that Bella was concentrating very hard, balancing the tray with our order, while she walked around the mostly empty tables between the front of the diner and our booth in the back of the dining area.

Yet, in addition to her preoccupation with the scalding liquid on her tray, Bella was annoyed; if not downright angry. As she walked, she was muttering something too low for even us to decipher and two bright red patches had appeared on her cheeks.

"Did Cora say anything to her?" I asked.

"You weren't paying any attention, were you?" Esme sighed unhappily, "…No, Carlisle. Cora did not say anything. She was just staring like everybody else is…so it must be _us_. "

There was too much disappointment in her voice.

"Bella asked for her break. She's probably trying to avoid us…" she concluded looking down at her hands, twisting her wedding band around and around.

That did not make sense.

There was no reason for the intrepid Bella that I met in the hospital, who boldly reached _towards_ a vampire not three minutes ago, to suddenly develop the typical human aversion to our kind. Still, there was always the possibility that Bella was perhaps having a delayed reaction…a perfectly natural consequence to our unnatural state.

"Esme, look at me. I know how much this means to you and to _us_, but we have to let things progress as they will. If Bella is…apprehensive about the information she discovered today, we must offer our understanding and patience. So, we will ask her to join us at the table. If she refuses, we will stay until Alice lets us know it is time to leave…alright?"

I felt more than saw Esme nod beside me just as Bella reached our table. When she placed the tray on the table, I noticed a third cup of coffee and pie serving. I took that as a very good sign.

Apparently, Esme did not notice. It was also apparent that my wife did not heed the part of my plan involving _patience_.

As soon as Bella began serving our order Esme blurted: "Maybe we should take this to-go…"

Bella's head whipped towards Esme.

Five drops of coffee from the mug in her hand splashed on the table.

"Wha-? Why? You're leaving? Did I…" Bella asked confused, a line appearing between her brows. The corners of her mouth sharply turned downwards and she dropped her eyes to the third, lonely pie slice and coffee still on her tray.

I was already aware that Bella was both, tenacious and insecure. In her mind, she was in all likelihood berating herself for assuming we were here to see her. Nothing that we could say would dislodge the doubt from her mind. Words would not sway her. So instead of verbally responding, I decided to show her.

Reaching over, I grabbed the cup from the tray and placed it on the table across from us.

Esme, immediately understanding what I was doing, followed my lead, took the remaining plate and silverware and placed it next to the coffee.

For a second, Bella just stood there. Then she sighed, and it was obvious from her expression that she had reached some decision.

"Um…okay," she mumbled, "Let me go get some boxes." She started to turn but before she could step away, Esme gently grabbed her hand.

"Never mind the boxes, dear…would you join us? For your break, I mean…have your coffee and pie with us?" Esme pleaded, still holding Bella's hand. The line between her brows was clear indication that Bella remained unconvinced.

"Sit, Bella," I smiled.

After a moment's hesitation, Bella's fingers twitched within Esme's hand, but she finally met my eyes and her expression relaxed.

"What's the magic word?" She huffed playfully. Her tentative smile warmed my heart and I could not help to play along.

So, I stood up to my full height, extended a hand in invitation, and sank in a courtly bow. I also used a bit of vampire allure to achieve the full effect.

"Miss Swan, would you do us the great honor of gracing us with your company?" I formally requested, letting my native speech cadences seep through.

"Wow," she breathed and stared; her lax mouth forming a perfect 'O'.

"Carlisle, leave the girl alone and sit down," Esme interrupted my performance with a hard pinch to my side. Turning to Bella, my traitor wife smiled kindly.

"Bella dear, ignore him. Come sit down with us."

Like snapping out of a trance, Bella shook her head and narrowed her eyes at me.

"Has anybody mentioned you're very bossy, Dr. Moroi?" She grumbled humorously and plopped on the booth bench opposite of us. "Happy now?"

Esme could not help but laugh at Bella's sauciness. I was relieved that Bella still appeared comfortable enough to banter with us.

I suspected that Bella was often underestimated as being passive and meek; when in fact, her passiveness and meekness appeared to be merely part of a shield she utilized to safely navigate through life. It made a warped sort of sense; if she made herself smaller, quieter, and unobtrusive, she would be camouflaged from an environment that was unstable at best, threatening at worse.

Hence, it was reassuring that the trust and familiarity we established during her visit to the ER had not diminished under the weight of Bella's newly acquired knowledge. After she was discharged from the hospital, I feared that once she took the time to process this morning's events, the reality of immersing herself in a world of vampires would prove overwhelming.

"I am reminded quite often of the flaw. And yes, I am quite happy." I was absurdly smug. My silly self-satisfaction did not go unnoticed by either Esme or Bella as both simultaneously rolled their eyes at me.

Still, after that brief moment of easy camaraderie between us, the heaviest of silences enveloped our table. To say that the quiet that settled over us was "awkward" would be like calling the Pacific Ocean, a "puddle."

I had expected Bella to be tongue-tied. The amount of information she had discovered today would be overpowering for any mortal. Not to mention, that she was in all likelihood struggling to makes sense of her sudden connection with Edward. In a matter of hours, her world had expanded explosively to accommodate both, proof of the supernatural and a metaphysical bond with her perfect counterpart (though, it was unlikely she fully understood the link and its implications). Thus, it was perfectly understandable that Bella would be cautious traversing the new landscape of her life.

What I did not expect was how uncertain Esme and I would be about this meeting. Even after our conversation in the car and our resolutions, we were at a loss.

Next to me, Esme had already shredded her paper napkin into a neat little pile. She then began to methodically divide her slice of pie and spread the small portions around the plate (as we did to make it seem as if the food was consumed). She was also stealing glances in Bella's direction every few seconds.

Over and over the process repeated.

She would cut a small piece of pie, move it to another location on her plate, pretend to sip the coffee, grimace at the smell, and peek under her lashes at Bella.

Cut and move, sip and grimace, peek and repeat.

Cut and move, sip and grimace, peek.

Across the table, Bella was not faring any better.

The uncomfortable girl was managing her anxiety by methodically ripping open a seemingly excessive number of sugar packets and pouring each, one-by-one, into her coffee. She was also looking up at us at intervals, each time refreshing the raging blush on her cheeks.

Shake, rip, pour. Blush. Repeat.

Shake, rip, pour. More blushing.

After she was finished with the sugar, Bella then proceeded to add an equally large amount of cream to her mug.

Though coffee was not available during my human life (and I had only suffered through relatively few sips of the black liquid as a vampire) I still knew that what remained in Bella's cup after her doctoring could not, under no circumstances, be palatable in any way. I mentally shivered at how her concoction would taste.

My own plate remained untouched.

And just when I thought the scene could not possibly get any more awkward, the bench seat started vibrating. However, it was a new, unfamiliar rhythm.

Bella's leg was bouncing.

Esme began stirring her coffee, even though she had not added sugar or cream.

I sighed morosely.

Being exasperated was irrational; I understood this.

Yet, this meeting was turning into an unmitigated disaster. If we could not manage a simple conversation, how were we supposed to be a part of Bella's life? We were failing already. It was not often that the pressure of a situation affected me, but this was different. So much was at stake, not only for Edward, Alice, and Esme. My current emotions baldly telling of how emotionally invested _I_ was in this new path. My exasperation was nothing more than growing disappointment.

And the longer the uncomfortable silence lingered, the pricklier I became.

I concentrated on my breathing. Though unnecessary, focusing on the physical action of inhalation and exhalation usually helped clear my mind.

This time it was not helping. At all.

I sighed again.

Why _was_ Esme stirring her coffee?

There was no reason for her stirring. She was already pretending to drink the coffee. Humans stirred, then drank. Not drank, then stirred, then drank. It was all out of order.

Everything was out of sync.

I frowned.

The bench seat _and_ the table itself started shaking.

Esme's leg had joined the dance.

The spoon Esme was using to stir her drink clinked as it hit the porcelain mug.

Clink.

Bounce. Shake. Bounce.

Clink.

Bounce. Shake. Bounce. Shake. Bounce.

I sighed.

I noticed that the artfully curled, whipped cream mountain topping my pie gave up the fight against gravity and careened down the crust, rolling to a temporary stop on the edge on the slightly chipped porcelain plate. It stayed there, holding on for dear life, until...

Bounce. Shake. Bounce.

Down it went, landing on the table with a plop.

The part of my brain that was _not_ despairing at how horribly wrong this meeting was going, noted that what used to be an amorphous globule of heavy whipping cream and sugar, now strikingly resembled a herniated scrotum.

My inside voice sniggered like a puerile fraternity brother.

Clearly, it was not a wise idea to spend time with Emmett when it was _his_ turn to control the television remote. Those 'Beaver and Butthole' characters were now in possession of several of my brain cells. Though I would never admit it out loud: they _were_ funny. I could still hear Emmett chanting: 'Diaaarrhheeaa, Diarrhea, cha, cha, cha! Diarrhea, cha, cha, cha!'"

Lost to my thoughts, I could not help the loud snort that escaped me.

Then, I noticed something.

The shaking and bouncing had stopped.

The stirring and clinking had also stopped.

Looking up I could see that my two companions were staring at me with mouths gaping. For a microsecond I panicked thinking I had actually repeated out-loud Emmett's foul, nonsensical ditty.

"What?" I asked with as much self-possession as three hundred and some years of experience had taught me.

"Honey, you were…um…dancing in place?" From Esme's expression I could tell that while I not spoken the words, I had indeed imitated Emmett's accompanying choreography.

"I certainly was not!" I spluttered.

My reputation as respected, temperate Cullen clan leader was at stake. Dr. Carlisle William Cullen, M.D. to the 7th power, did not shake his—

"Actually, it was more of wiggle…" Bella rejoined between snickers.

Then Esme and Bella were chortling away at my expense.

I did not mind, as they were also laughing away the awkwardness.

Bella was laughing so hard her eyes were tearing up. Noticing this, Esme (still trying to control her own snickers) reached over and handed Bella a dry napkin: "Here you go, sweetheart."

But before she could retrieve her hand, Bella once again reached for and gently held my wife's pale hand in her own.

Their eyes met.

No words were exchanged.

Both women seemingly communicating with each other without need to verbalize.

Bella smiled tentatively at first, but her smile bloomed when Esme gave her a playful, tiny squeeze in return.

My embarrassment forgotten, I sat back and rejoiced that this was happening for my love; that it was happening for both of them. I did not have to imagine what Esme was feeling; what empty spaces within were being filled by Bella's tacit acceptance. I felt the same grace this morning in the ER.

In the background, the gossip was running rampant; speculation about our presence, Bella's company, the handholding, how strange we were, was reaching fever pitch. We were attracting too much attention to ourselves.

"You don't like coffee, do you?" I found myself asking; hating that I was disrupting their moment.

"Not at all," Bella responded sheepishly. "I actually hate it. The caffeine makes me even clumsier, if you can believe it. I only got it because I…"

Her expression shifted turning contemplative.

After a brief pause, she continued: "Well, you've never been here before, but since our talk this morning at the hospital and what I think happened today at school, I just assumed that maybe you were here to see _me_…but then Esme said you wanted your food to go, which is weird by the way…um, not because it was "to-go" but because you wanted to actually _keep_ the pies…even though, you know, it might not be part of your, erm, regular diet…and well, I felt embarrassed, presumptuous, and a little bit stupid. More than a little bit actually…I mean, why _would_ you come see _me_, right?" That last part was barely audible. As her thoughts spilled out, we both could see Bella physically reduce herself; smaller and smaller until she was hunched over her now-tepid coffee.

"Bella, there is no other reason for us to be here but _you_. Okay?" Esme said still holding hands with the girl. "I only changed our order because you looked uncomfortable with us here."

"No!" she exclaimed loudly. Realizing that she had raised her voice in her distress, she lifted her sight to the dining area. She immediately realized what Esme and I had been aware of all along: We were being openly watched by every set of eyes in the place. Even the line cook was no longer manning the grill, but was instead staring at us through the kitchen pass-thru window.

"That wasn't…It's just that they were _all_ staring. At _you_! Like you are some kind of freak-show. It made me mad…Even Cora. She made me sit you _all_ _the_ _way_ _back_ _here_ to keep you away. And look at them! They are still staring…even right now! " Her hands curled into fists and she frowned.

"We're used to it, dear." I tried to reassure her but Bella was having none of it.

"That still doesn't make it right though," she huffed.

"Bella, honey…that is the natural reaction to _us_; to _what_ we are. People…" looking up briefly to insure the continued privacy of our conversation, Esme continued after a beat, "…_humans_ are naturally wary of us."

"But I don't feel that. At all. Is that weird?" Bella pointedly questioned.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with you, Bella. Nothing. You are exactly as you are meant to be." Esme attempted to reassure her.

However, from the look in Bella's eyes I knew we were not going to be able to get away with cryptic half-truths about the realities of our connection to her.

We would have to deal in facts.

And true to form, Bella pressed on: "What does that mean?"

Her eyes bounced from Esme to me and back to Esme searching for answers.

"It means that…well, we suspect, that there is a perfectly good reason why you are not displaying the typical reactions humans have to our kind." I struggled to find the words…the right beginning to this story, our collective story, which was now encompassing her, fusing her into this most extraordinary narrative.

Bella, on the other hand, cut through the excess and dove straight into the very essence of the matter.

"You're talking about this morning, aren't you? Something happened…besides me falling I mean. Something important happened...with _him_…" Bella reasoned. The word 'him' was whispered in awe, as if she felt undeserving of even considering herself connected with my son.

Pushing the uneaten food out of the way, I reached over and with a single finger lifted her face to meet mine.

"With Edward. You can say his name, dear girl. We _want_ you to say his name." I hoped she could see the truth in my eyes.

At the sound of Edward's name, she clenched her eyes shut, shook her head and visibly struggled to expel her next words. "I can't."

"Why not?" Esme asked just as softly, all the while she gently stroked the top of Bella's delicate hand.

After taking a huge gulp of air, she quietly admitted: "Because I'm afraid."

"Of him?" I asked suddenly worried.

Immediately, Bella's brown eyes flashed open.

"No!" she responded vehemently. "Never. But I don't know how I know that; I just know I could never be afraid of him, though." After saying this her brow furrowed in confusion.

I was immeasurably relieved.

Even though I was sure Bella and Edward's mating bond was almost completely secured, there was a part of me that still needed to be absolutely sure. It had been too many years, too many wishes, and prayers. Bella was not the only one who was afraid that this miracle of a connection between a vampire and his singer was too good to be true.

I was also coming to appreciate the conflict that was raging within her: She was certain of her feelings regarding Edward, but those feelings had no context. At least not a human context.

"I didn't imagine that, right?" Her expression was earnest, hopeful, and apprehensive at the same time. Though I felt the majority of the answers to her questions needed to come from Edward, we could shed some light on certain things, and perhaps alleviate some of the anxiety she was feeling.

"No. You did not imagine it." I confirmed.

After a beat, the concern cleared from her expression. The only thing I could see was a twinkle of burning curiosity in her wide eyes.

"Is this normal? Does it happen often? Does _it_ have a name? I feel like a dumba- erm, really _unintelligent_ about this entire thing." Clearly, Bella noticed Esme's eyebrow lift and pursed lips because she not-so-swiftly interchanged her word-choice. Esme had little patience with coarse language and even less when it was used to against one of her own (even if self-directed).

I had to smile at the close call. Bella was already responding to Esme as one of the "kids."

I was about to respond to her questions, a blush raged up her neck and she carried on, faster than before.

"Actually, never mind. I can't discuss this…_it_…with you. I mean no offense…it's just that it would be super weird 'cause you're his…_Edward's_ parents…" A visible shiver went through her slim frame when she uttered her mate's name.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly continued: "…So yeah, it would be inappropriate for me to talk to you about, you know…how I'm having all these inexplicable feelings for a boy that I haven't ever spoken to and that boy happens to be your son…And I'm not talking about fleeting-teenage-crush feelings either; more like the type of feelings that taken over every empty space and feel like my heart is being squeezed inside my chest…I don't think I can call it, you know _love_…yet, but, it's like suddenly I'm part of something bigger than myself. How is it that I feel more myself now than ever before? And how at the same time I feel like I'm missing a limb because he isn't here…I _miss_ him and we've never met."

As Bella's rambled confession spilled forth, Esme squeezed my thigh with her free hand.

The raw yearning cradled in Bella's words was both unique to her heart and representative of the few of us who received the blessing of a perfect partner in this life.

Next to me, Esme gently professed: "Bella, I felt the exact same thing with Carlisle."

My mate's smile and the words that followed showed a wonder that had not dissipated in the least, even after so much time together.

"I met his eyes and it was as if…as if something within me—

"…Left you and joined some part of him." Bella's quiet interruption was tinged with the same marvel.

Esme smiled tenderly and nodded. "Exactly. Like the incomplete parts and sad places, all the hollows, and the jagged edges were suddenly filled and matched perfectly."

Without conscious thought, I raised Esme's hand to my mouth and placed a reverent kiss on her knuckles.

Bella followed our linked fingers and with a sweet smile, whispered: "Like puzzle pieces clicking together…"

After a moment, I decided to follow Bella's lead and dive into the facts.

"The 'thing' you feel…we call it _mating_." I did not mince words.

Euphemisms would be counterproductive.

I waited for the inevitable blush and Bella did not disappoint. Dark red splotches appeared up her neck and her mouth fell open.

"I know that term can have…distressing implications but please remember, that it is just a _word_. A word used to describe a _connection_." I hastened to add.

My explanation did not seem to help at all. Bella was turning purple.

"So it's not a…uh…sex thing?" she squeaked.

"Well sex is certainly an important and enjoyable—

"Eeep!" Bella's eyes were bulging in embarrassment. There was expectant horror pouring out of her every pore.

"Carlisle." Esme intervened.

Obviously, I was absolutely inept at having the "talk" with teenage girls. I was making everything worse.

"Sweetheart, what Carlisle is trying," Esme paused briefly to send me an exasperated look, then continued with a roll of her eyes, "…and _failing_ to explain is this: For our kind everything is enhanced- our senses, our physical capabilities, our feelings. _Especially_ our feelings. We feel everything intensely, almost overwhelmingly. It's as if we are much more in-touch, perhaps even bound, to instinctual parts of our nature that humans have 'civilized' _out_ of themselves. Is this making sense?"

I smiled at my wife.

Esme's explanation had a strong evolutionary basis. Traits that are not used are bred out of the gene pool. It is quite possible that the early bipeds possessed the ability to mate as we did; but somehow, through time, it had been lost. Basically, the human animal had domesticated itself to the point of almost total separation from their animal origins. Conversely, vampires like other apex predators had little need to genetically adapt once apex status is reached. Not that I was certain about how vampire genetic material was transmitted and translated during the change. I made a mental note to further research this line of thought and refocused on the conversation at hand.

"It does make sense," Bella was entranced; still chewing on her lip without mercy but the embarrassment was receding from her expression.

"Good. Well, we believe that being that close to the…_primitive_ parts our nature allows us recognize our other half…it allows us to _clearly_ see the one person who we're meant to be with. But you are absolutely correct…when you said that it doesn't feel like love yet. The pull you're feeling is often confused by humans and vampires as "love at first sight.' But mating is _not_ a guaranteed relationship. A true, loving relationship takes work, compromise, and communication. What the bond _does_ guarantee is that a mate is the person best equipped to make you happy, so it makes the hard work all the more worth it. If one is lucky enough to find a mate and the connection is formed, that bond will always be there. It doesn't fade…It doesn't disappear," Esme concluded.

"So if it doesn't fade it's like turtle doves? For life?"

"Yes. Or existence, in our case," I clarified. "We have never heard of a human mating with a vampire, but everything appears to be developing as it should," I exhaled internally resigned. As soon as Alice had come to me with her vision, I had begun researching instances of human-vampire mating. My covert investigation had provided no leads and no answers. There was simply no other instance recorded: Bella and Edward's experience would be one-of-a-kind.

As she had done before, after hearing the word 'mating' Bella blushed. I could not help but think that after all this was said-and-done, Bella would be hard-pressed to retain the precious naiveté that made her color. While many aspects of mating were indeed sublimely spiritual, there was no question that the _carnal_ component to the bond was also predominant. There was a reason it _was_ called mating.

However, I understood why Esme's interrupted my description of the sexual component of mating. Elucidation regarding these aspects would need to come…erm, from Edward.

For now, we could elucidate only the theoretical aspects for her, even if in reality we were _all_ on uncharted territory.

"The fact of the matter is that you are behaving more like one of us, than a human. You recognized Edward and from your account, it is clear that the bond is well underway—

"Underway? So, it's not done? Esme just said that it wouldn't fade," She grumbled.

"What my dear husband is _trying_ to say is that we don't know how the bond will work on you. Right now, you seem to be experiencing the typical things. From my conversation with Edward this morning, it also appears that everything is as it should be on his side of things. But this has never happened before, so we are taking it one step at a time," Esme clarified kindly.

"You spoke with Edward? Is he okay with all this? With me being, you know, his…um…mate?" With each question, Bella eagerly leaned forward. And this time, she only hesitated for the slightest of moments before calling herself Edward's mate.

Esme smiled broadly before answering: "Bella, I've never seen him more happy."

"I just don't want him to feel obligated, you know…" If I knew Edward at all, I would bet that he was probably torturing himself with concerns identical to Bella's.

"He doesn't. But anything else regarding how Edward is feeling should come directly from him. That's a special conversation that should stay between you both; there are things that you need to hear only from him. Does that sound alright?" Esme concluded.

"That actually sounds perfect," Sitting back, Bella appeared satisfied and for the moment, at peace.

I knew there much more that she had to be told, but I could hear that our visit with Bella was close to an end.

"I am sure you have many more questions about us. Edward will answer any you have about our family and how we live when you two meet…which I suspect won't be long now." I concluded with a smile.

"When?!" Bella asked so eagerly that in her excitement failed to notice the pair of figures that had just arrived to the diner and were now standing beside her.

"Tomorrow at 7:33 a.m., but that's only if you don't forget to set your alarm before you go to bed tonight…and don't wear _just_ that green shirt. You will need to layer because that shirt and your jacket won't be enough. Tomorrow it's going to be much colder than it has been. Some freak cold front or something…Hi, Bella! I'm Alice! We are going to be best friends!"

And without further ado, Alice plopped down next to Bella and gave her a hug.

Bella looked both, confounded by the physical contact and amused by Alice's enthusiasm: "How—

"…did I know all that?" Interrupted Alice, always at the ready to show off her impressive gift.

"That's not what I was going to ask." Bella responded drolly.

"Are you sure?" I could feel Esme shaking with amusement at the bewilderment in Alice's expression: Lips pursed, scrunched brow, and head tilted to one side. She was concentrating on Bella like she was trying to read the girl's thoughts.

Bella started squirming in her seat, but did not shy away from Alice's intent look.

"She's sure, darlin'," Jasper assured, breaking the staring contest between the girls.

"Well, that's a first…" Alice huffed. Then, remembering the tall, blond vampire still standing by the table, Alice jumped up, pulled Jasper down to the bench and finally introduced him: "...Oh! Bella, this is my Jazzy!"

Jasper by now used to the peculiar moniker did not react in any way to Alice's variation on his name.

Bella, on the other hand, unaccustomed to Alice's quirk, snorted comically: "_Jazzy_?"

When she did not get a denial from any of us, she asked him directly: "Seriously?"

Jasper smirked and clarified with as much dignity as he could muster: "It's Jasper, actually."

The dignified façade was ruined when he then rolled his eyes in Alice's direction and shrugged his shoulders as if saying 'what can you do.' Then, his face broke out in a grin, which made me wonder what sorts of feelings he was receiving from Bella.

And without missing a beat, Bella retorted in mock disbelief: "_Jasper_?...Seriously?!"

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabella."

Then Jasper, who had never initiated contact with a human without murderous intent, who still spent days without feeding to build up his resistance, extended a scarred hand over Alice towards Bella.

Bella without hesitation firmly grasped the proffered hand in her own and shook it.

"It's Bella, actually," she automatically corrected, probably not realizing that she had opened the door for Jasper's quirky humor.

And right on cue, he returned the jibe: "_Bella_?...Seriously?!"

After a pause, Bella crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out.

Jasper guffawed at her mild annoyance. Bella valiantly tried to keep her irritated face but before long, she was giggling along.

"Bella, just ignore him…so, what _was_ it that you were going to ask? So…are you excited? About meeting Edward, I mean. You must be excited; Edward is! So _are_ you excited? You are! I can totally tell. Don't be nervous. At all. Edward is, with good reason. You know? You guys are going to make the cutest couple…after me and Jazz, of course. But so cute! This is so exciting! Do you like movies? What kind of PJs you prefer? How 'bout snacks? We have to have snacks for you at the house, for when you come over. You are coming over right?...Duh! Of course you are! Saturday! Yay! It's a date!" Alice, as she was prone to doing, drowned in run-on-sentences, that somehow actually made sense to us after so many decades.

Bella, however, was understandably dazed. By the end of Alice's soliloquy, Bella looked bewildered. "Um…Alice, I don't…I was going to…how did you—

"…know all that?" Alice smirked and then, started to answer her own question. "Well, I'm—

"…psychic," Bella interrupted.

Now it was Alice's turn to gape: "How do you _know_ that?!"

Bella's mouth quirked up.

"Elementary, my dear Watson: The eyeglasses. And thanks, by the way. They are pretty awesome. Anyway, I know that you know what will happen because if you can't see the future, how would you've known that I would need glasses after this morning's thing with Lauren…In fact, I'm willing to bet you saw me coming all along. Right?" Bella concluded correctly, just like she had nonchalantly deciphered our true nature earlier today.

"I…I don't know what to say…" Alice looked stunned. It was not often that Alice was surprised by anything.

"Now _that's_ a first," Jasper murmured drolly and promptly received an elbow to the ribs from the little vampire.

Still rubbing the spot, Jasper explained: "Alice _did_ see ya comin' to Forks, Bella. She _also_ saw this morning's incident…and that's why before we become better acquainted, I must apologize to you first."

"Huh? Why would _you_ apologize? It wasn't you that pulled me down. I don't understand…" Bella frowned, obviously uncomfortable.

So Alice, without a care in the world, threw her arm in comfort around Bella's hunched shoulders. "We know that. But the thing is we _let_ it happen…and I'm so sorry Bella, because I _saw_ it was going to happen and I couldn't do what I wanted to do which was make that slore Lauren hurt like…ugh! I can't even…" Alice breathed trying to regain her composure.

After a few seconds, she continued: "…the thing is, that what I _see_ depends on the decisions that people make. The future is not set and changes depending on the choices people make. And I'd seen that if we did anything before you and Edward, well…you know…it would interfere with the future in a terrible way." Alice was pleading for understanding.

I understood the reason behind the vagueness of Alice's explanation. Now, was not the appropriate time or place for the inevitable discussion regarding the _Cantante_ phenomenon; or how even at this point, the slightest slip could completely derail this much-yearned future. Nonetheless, the ideal outcome from Alice's vision, Edward and Bella becoming mates, only minutely mitigated the guilt and shame Alice felt.

"I don't know what to say. I'm kind of used to it…you know?" Bella mumbled. Then after noticing Alice's obvious mortification, she valiantly tried to cheer Alice up: "Alice, really…it's fine. Sticks and stones…so please don't worry. I'm not mad. I understand…I think. Okay?"

Alice, clearly overwhelmed by Bella's generous forgiveness, quickly grabbed Bella is a crushing hug.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…" Alice muttered her gratitude against her new friend's shoulder.

Initially, Bella patted Alice's back. But after a minute of Alice showing no signs of ever letting go, Bella sheepishly reminded the pale, boa constrictor wrapped around her: "…Erm, Alice, I can't really breathe too well…"

"Oh my god! Are you okay? Did I crush you? Did I break something? Carlisle, did you hear something crack? I—

"Allie, baby, she's fine. Right Bella?" Jasper assured as he tried to grab the little vampire hands that were manically patting Bella everywhere, looking for an injury.

"I'm good. I just got a little short of breath there, so chill Polly-pocket. Okay?" Bella smirked and awkwardly patted Alice's head.

"I'll have you know am not _that_ short," Alice huffed indignantly as she made sure her short hair was back in place.

Bella snorted in amused response.

Sensing that emotions were back in balance, Jasper continued: "Bella, the second thing I want you to know is that had it not been 'cause of the extenuatin' circumstances Alice just mentioned, there is _nothing_ right about being a bystander to that kind of treatment. Bullyin' is bullyin.' Plain and simple. Those who stand by and do nothin' are as part of the problem as the bullies themselves. Look, I know we still don't know each other, but believe me when I tell you that it won't happen again…I give you my word, for what it's worth…It won't matter how things develop with Edward. I promise you that I'm not gonna to stand by and let that kind of thing happen to you anymore. Okay?"

After making his promise, Jasper looked directly at me.

Knowing the strict honor code Jasper Whitlock lived by, I understood the weight of his promise to Bella. There was no question; he going to take appropriate action next time Bella was victimized.

And with this one look, he was both apologizing in advance and informing me that he intended to break one of the fundamental Cullen rules: Maintain the lowest of possible profiles. We usually stayed on the sidelines of humanity as to prevent humans from developing strong, definite memories of us. The last thing we needed was for a classmate at a high-school reunion twenty-years from now, having a remembrance that might spark an Internet search. Given how technology advanced, we had no way of knowing how much obscurity we would enjoy in such a future.

Yet, Bella's wellbeing more than warranted that risk.

Without question or doubts, I assented. Next to me, Esme nodded in support.

"That's not really necessary, Jasper. I don't want you to get in trouble for me…" Bella murmured concentrating on the frayed edge of her thermal shirt.

"Bella?" Jasper leveled a patient but firm stare at Bella.

"Yes…?" Bella squeaked out.

"Since this mornin'…actually, since Allie first saw you, you became family. _My_ family. So no matter what happens between you and Edward, I am promisin' this to you."

After a beat, the corners of Bella's lips inched up and she nodded, accepting the pledge held in her new sibling's hard-earned, gold-eyes.

"Anyhooo, we still have so much to talk about, Bella. So tomorrow during lunch, you will sit with us," the female vampiric Napoleon instructed.

"Hmm…I'll check my schedule and get back to you." Bella ignored Alice's command and took a huge bite of her, now cold pie. She smiled conspiratorially at Esme, who was once again, snickering away.

After realizing that Bella was not going to budge, Alice finally groused: "Ugh, fine! You win...Dear Bella would you like to sit with us tomorrow during lunch? Though it's pointless for me to ask since I know you are going to say that—

"Why, thank you, Alice. I'd love to sit with you and watch you all pretend to eat," Bella sassed.

Jasper laughed. No doubt impressed by Bella's nascent ability to stop the Alice-runaway-train, and her level of understanding about our behaviors.

Suddenly, Alice went rigid and her eyes lost focus.

"Bella, Cora is going to call you in 10 seconds," Alice immediately declared as she emerged from her last minute vision. "Your shift ends in 20 minutes. Well, we'll stay until then."

Bella surprised at the abrupt shift in conversation barely had time to react to Alice's premonition before Cora's voice was heard from the front to diner: "Bella! I need you back in front…"

* * *

Getting up from table 7 was so much harder that I thought it would be.

I'd just met these people. I'd exchanged only a few words with Alice and even less words with Jasper. And for some reason I felt at home with them…even though I'd thoroughly embarrassed myself by a major word vomit attack about how I felt about Edward. I mean…I knew that in any _other_ dimension that isn't the kind of information one should typically share with the parents of a boy one wanted to date. Unless of course, you've been raised by _wolves_.

But even as I started to backtrack out of my runaway-train confession, I realized that these wonderful people sitting in front of me, pretending to eat pie and drink coffee for my sake, were the only ones capable of understanding. This was more than a friendly visit; they had gone out of their way to let me know that they were here to support me in this brand new world.

So instead of feeling like I was falling down a rabbit hole (which for me, would likely be due to spastic tripping, cracking my head open, and tumbling down as ungainly as possible), it was as if Dr. C and Esme had come to guide me through.

_Family_, Jasper had said.

That should've freaked me out because my experience with that social concept is rated 'poor' at best. But I was starting to get a glimpse that family was no longer a concept for me to admire from afar. It was this very collection of people-vamps that respected and cared about each other…and were suddenly opening their arms to include _me_ in their midst.

I smiled.

The Cullens were far from your typical family for sure. Esme Cullen may appear for all intents and purposes as your typical Suzie-Q Homemaker (the bloodsucking version), but I could tell she had a core of steel. It would be easy to confuse the way the hung back and deferred to Dr. Cullen as submissiveness; but once I saw how they related to each other, it was clear that she was _not_, in any way, meek. Esme Cullen was simply so secure in herself and in her place in Dr. Hotness' heart, that she didn't need to impose herself.

And Dr. Data…er, Carlisle was not the sedate, super put-together gent he portrayed. I was willing to bet that he had a dorktastic streak a mile wide and that once you got him to cut loose, he would be a riot. God only knows what was going on inside that vampire brain when he started wiggling in place. I suspected that it only took getting Dr. Carlisle amongst his loved ones for the veneer to drop. If I ever got the chance, I was definitely testing that theory...

Alice was a trip and a half, and not just 'cause she was a psychic, vampire, with a pretty severe case of hyperactivity disorder. Call us the odd couple but even as different as we seemed to be, my gut was telling me we would have a massive amount of fun. Not that I couldn't totally see the crazy behind those eyes though. I bet she already had _plans_ for me as her BFF. Plans that probably involved conspicuous consumerism, or something even more horrible, like 'American Next Top Model' and "What not to Wear" viewing marathons.

I gulped. Was it too late to run to the Beast and take off into the horizon?

"Don't even think about it, Bella Swan."

That voice stopped me short. Did she just see me—?

Turning towards table 7, I could see that the fun-sized Cullen was trying to act menacing: Eyes-narrowed and giving me the stink eye.

Yup…She totally saw a future where I took off, running away to avoid hours of Tyra Banks and her scary "smizing."

It was quickly becoming apparent that Alice's special ability was going to cramp my style, such as it was. Yet, according to the explanation of Alice's…um…specialness, she didn't see the _entire_ future because the future was not set in stone. She only saw what would happen _after_ decisions were made.

Hmmm…Interesting.

I was on to something here, I was sure. This had _potential_.

Bad Bella was licking her chops; she could _certainly_ use this to her advantage.

Giving Alice a counter-bitch-brow and a smirk, I turned around and continued walking towards the front of the diner where Cora had oh-so-delicately hollered my name. I little experimentation wouldn't hurt Alice, right?

So in the interest of my personal amusement (and the advancement of vampire science, of course), I thought that I would look absolutely fabulous with a mullet haircut: Super curly perm on top, straight in the back and some frosted highlights all over. Yes, I would call to make an appointment at Sally's as soon as I got home and…

From behind me, I heard a loud gasp and a drawn-out, wail: "Nnnnnooooooooooooooooo."

I couldn't help it and started to laugh. That was _way_ too easy.

I could also hear, what I assumed was Jasper's cackling in the background.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, goose?"

I could feel the smile melt from my face and my awesome 'high-on-my-new-supernatural-family" high crashing to earth.

I knew that voice.

"Yeah, like, double-u, tee, eff, are you like, laughing at?"

I knew that voice too.

From the corner of my eye I saw that (as predicted, no psychic powers necessary) Forks High had regurgitated my lovely classmates directly into the diner. The entire gang was here. Super.

Ignore them, Bella.

Keep walking.

Cora had said that she would take care of them next time they came in. So that's exactamondo what I did; I kept walking.

There was no way in hell (or Forks, for that matter) that I was going to take care of that table today. Normally, I could take what they dished, but there was no way, no how, that I would allow the Cullens to see how _petrified_ I was of my own classmates.

When I got to the register, I noticed that Cora was nowhere to be found.

Not good.

She'd better make an appearance before the Sowers of Discord of Bolgia 9 (a.k.a., my asshole classmates at table 666…also commonly known as table 11) started clamoring for my attention.

But just in case she didn't, I needed a contingency plan…

Okay. Looking around I saw that some tables needed to be bussed, coffee mugs everywhere appeared empty, and some patrons looked like they were ready to either, order or check out. So my plan was to do exactly that: Stay busy (i.e., away from table 11) for the next 16 minutes until my shift ended.

So I refreshed coffee mugs, refilled soda drinks, bussed and wiped tables, and checked out couple of customers including Nurse Nancy's super-nice husband, Dan.

Looking at the clock, I noticed that I had only 9 minutes left.

Jill, the other waitress came storming in with her uniform in her hands. After a quick "Hey, Bella…just gonna change…be right back" she walked into the employees-only room.

Eight minutes left and still, no Cora.

The decibel level coming from table 666 was increasing. I could clearly hear that Fig Newton kid banging on the table with his utensils while chanting: "I want my food. Where is my food?!" The original gangsta, MC Crowley, was badly rapping something about 'bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks.' All the while Lauren and her minion were 'conversing' about some girl getting caught doing something, a sex act I believe to be physiologically impossible (unless the poor chick was born without a ribcage) to one of basketball players in the school counselor's office. They were describing the contortion in detail by screaming said details over the song-and-rap flow coming from the two morons at the table. I couldn't hear Angela or Ben, which meant that they were probably just sitting there like the lumps they were.

Seven minutes. No Cora _and_ no Jill.

"Bella, order up!" I turned around only to see Cora dishing food in the kitchen. Larry, the short-order cook, was missing in action.

"Which table?" The words stuck in my sandpaper throat. Yet, even as I pushed the question out, I already knew the answer. Why? Let me tell you why: Because the universe sucked hairy, sweaty, stinky, old man ba—

"Table 11," she said.

Of course.

I sighed.

"Bella, I know I said that I would take care of those jackasses, but Larry started pukin' in the back. He thinks he got what his little boy got from school. That 24-hour bug that's been going 'round. He just went home…So until Sonny gets here I'll have to man the grill…I'm sorry girly," Cora explained apologetically.

"It's alright. Stop worrying about me or you are going to burn this place down or worse; you could burn the food," I tried to inject some levity. Maybe, just maybe, they would leave me alone this time.

Not likely, but still. One could hope.

I was not fooling Cora though. "Babe, just serve them their food and clock-out. In-and-out. 'kay? I'll make sure to collect the tips from your tables…"

I nodded and placed the massive amount of food on my tray.

I moved towards table 11.

My legs felt like lead.

My stomach and heart traded places. I could feel my pits get soaked with sweat and my hands get ice cold. My face was burning. My mouth went from dry to flooding with saliva to dry again with every step.

"What the fuck took you so long?" spat Lauren.

Hold the tongue. Don't engage. Hunch shoulders. Protect. Bacon cheeseburger to Tyler. Breathe in. Cobb salad to Jessica. Breath out. Club sandwich to Ben. Avoid the jeers. Blue plate special for Mike. Turkey burger for Angela. In-and-out. Almost there. Garden salad with balsamic vinaigrette to Lauren. Almost ther—

"This is _not_ what I ordered!" she screeched.

"I-I-I'm sorry?" Looking down at the order slip I could tell that Cora had taken down an order for a garden salad, no tomatoes, with balsamic vinaigrette. Looking at the salad, I could see nothing wrong. Lettuce leaves, onions, chives, no tomatoes. I frowned. I felt panic creeping in. What was I missing!?

"There's dressing all over my fucking salad you dumb bitch! I wanted it on the side. On. The. Side. Stupid. Just because you are happy being an ugly heifer doesn't mean the rest of us want to _be_ one," she oh-so-helpfully pointed out.

"Lauren, come on…" Ben half-heartedly tried to get her off my case, but Lauren's eyes never stopped glaring at me.

I needed to get out of here. Now.

Leaning over to take her plate, I once again tried to appease her: "I'm sorry. Cora wrote it down…it must've been an accident…I'll get you another—

"You are _sorry_? Hmm…well, accidents _do_ happen," she said with the creepiest smile ever.

I was in it for it now.

Shit. My lungs seized.

And almost as if somebody had hit the 'slow-mo' button of the giant remote in the sky, she extended one perfectly manicured finger…slowly…slowly…until it just barely touched the lip of the cup full of her strawberry milkshake. Then she pushed. The cup leaned.

Tipped some more.

Until it listed too far.

Too damn far.

The sticky, pink liquid splashed all over the bottom half of my shirt and the front of my pants. My sneakers, the only pair of shoes without holes that I owned were covered in milky goo.

She looked at me the entire time.

"Oopsie! Now, I'm sowy too," she cackled. Jessica, the poster-child for 'No Child Left Behind,' joined in the hilarity.

My eyes began stinging.

I wanted to hide.

To disappear.

To fade into nothingness…

…

No.

No more.

NO!

I wasn't going to run away this time. I wasn't going to cry.

I would give this angry harpy, that got her jollies from causing me pain, absolutely _nothing_ more.

I summoned everything she was not and everything I wanted to be: Gentle but assured; kindness wrapped around a steel core. Esme Cullen.

I would channel Esme until I learned to be like that myself.

So, I lifted my head and stared back.

Not in challenge, but indifference.

Chin up. Head up. Blank, impassive eyes.

Elegant and classy even with strawberry milkshake seeping through my underwear.

On the inside, though, I was raging.

To keep the façade, I had to bitch-slap the 'Bad Bella' voice inside my brain into submission: She wanted to go Xena-Warrior-Princess on Lauren's ass. Bad Bella thought that using this new-found strength to "rise above" was a total waste and that it would be much more gratifying to taco-punch Lauren like a fiend. Yet, I was pretty sure 'taco-punching' is an antonym for classy. Hence, my internal struggle.

What I didn't realize was that I was actually smiling at Bad Bella's colorful commentary, until I heard Lauren's nasal screech.

"Are you…smiling? You…you freak," She tried.

But even in her insult, I could hear the slight falter in her voice. She was surprised.

The rest of the table was still laughing in merriment and didn't notice the barely concealed alarm coursing through their Queen of Mean.

My quiet defiance of the status quo she had imposed on my life from the moment I landed in this dump threw her for a loop. Something recoiled in her eyes. She either knew or was realizing that something had been freed in me since this morning. Something had shifted. I was just realizing it myself.

It was so ridiculously clear now.

Lauren and her cronies were just 6 more I needed to add to the list of those that did not deserve my time or energy.

I understood that getting these asswipes off my back was not going to be as easy as deciding not to care. But the decision to be strong was the _first_ step of many. It didn't hurt that for the first time in a very long time, I didn't feel alone.

I _wasn't_ alone.

I _had_ people now. They were back in table 7.

"What are you…staring at?" she repeated, but her cutting edge was missing. I could feel her empty bravado in every syllable of her words.

"Lauren, I'm staring at _nothing_," I said bluntly.

Angela's eyes widened and Ben looked up from his onion rings with his mouth gaping. Gross.

The other three idiots at the table never noticed the major shift happening right in front of their noses. They were too busy pointing at the pink mess dripping off me to realize that their queen bee was no longer laughing with them.

Looking around table 11, I _saw _how essentially sad these small-minded little people were. Like that stupid mutant movie guy said: All of them were _three_ years into the best _four_ years of their lives…and they didn't even know it. They were too busy laughing at other people.

I sighed feeling just a tad sorry for them.

Pulling a rag from my back pocket, I bent down to wipe the dripping and rolling liquid from the black-and-white checkered floor…or at least contain the puddle. The last thing I wanted was for somebody to slip and fall on Lauren's little stunt.

Suddenly, the raucous laughter still coming from the table stopped dead in its tracks.

From my knees and over my shoulder, I saw that four pairs of very shiny, very expensive shoes were lined right behind me. The two, side-by-side, high-heeled pairs had those fancy red soles. Furthest back were the shiny black oxfords from this morning. And closest to me, were the most ridiculous pair of cowboy boots I'd ever seen.

"Bella, darlin' let me help ya up," I heard Jasper say as his hand appeared in front of my face.

Once I was on my feet, Alice took the rag from my hand with the tiniest of smiles. On my other side, Esme softly circled my wrist with her fingers.

Suddenly, Jasper firmly but quietly ordered: "Stand up."

Which totally confused me there for a second because I was already on my feet, until I realized that he wasn't talking to me.

"I said: _Stand_. _Up_." His eyes were burning in Lauren's direction.

Lauren's facial expression was starting to look like those people from the movie 'The Ring' after they are killed by fear of the creepy, long-haired girl that crawls out of the TV screen.

I would've laughed but was too distracted by a quivering I sensed in the air between my back and Jasper's chest. As close as he was hovering over my shoulder, I could clearly feel him vibrating. Not like figurative 'vibrating' used to describe 'shaking.' But like, actually vibrating. Like cats when they purred. But this was no purring.

"Now, Ms. Mallory," he _growled_.

And like hypnotized, Lauren got to her feet.

"Apologize." Another quiet order from Jasper.

Lauren was in a stupor. Her usually evil eyes looked lost. It must've been the first time anybody challenged her and she obviously didn't know how to react.

"I said…apologize to Isabella. _Right_ _now_," Jasper repeated, slower, deeper; all growly but never raising his voice.

The vibrations got stronger.

For a second, I thought that she was actually going to apologize to me. She opened her mouth. Her crazy eyes bounced from Jasper to me and then back. She was breathing so fast her gigantic silicone boobs were shaking like unmolded, cherry Jell-O. Suddenly, she shook her head and clamped her mouth shut. After a second, she sent a defiant, hate-filled glare in my direction.

Nope. No apology there.

I sighed. I was about to tell Jasper to let it go, so I could go home, get out of the sticky clothing and try to salvage my shoes.

Suddenly, Lauren whimpered. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

And Jasper Cullen was downright growling.

Beads of sweat appeared on her upper lip and she started to shake. Her eyes, now glued on Jasper, kept getting wider and wider. Her lips turned white. Her chin quivered.

I realized that my observation about 'The Ring' movie/Samara-victims was not far from the truth: Lauren was absolutely _terrified_.

Her eyes watered.

Two tears spilled.

And her mouth…that mouth that knew nothing good or kind…that spout of malevolence…fell open.

In the absolute silence that had enveloped the diner since the Cullens approached table 11, the only things that could be heard were Lauren's open-mouthed gasping and liquid dripping on the floor.

Drip…

Drip…Drip…

Drip, drip, drip, drip…

At first, I thought that the rest of the milkshake had made it from the table to the floor.

But then I realized it wasn't spilled milkshake.

A steady stream of ammonia-ish smelling liquid was trickling down Lauren's pale legs and spilling over her Uggs.

I gawped. That couldn't be right. Right?

Double take.

Did Lauren just…in the middle of the…did Jasper do…huh?

My brain was cramping. Seriously, Bad Bella was partying it up with my amygdala, 'making it rain' while my cerebral cortex gyrated on stage…obviously, too busy to engage in higher brain functions.

Alice peeked her head around my shoulder to take a look. After a second, she snorted and gave me a conspiratorial side-eye.

Jasper, on the other hand, never took his eyes from the girl. "Not so brave now, huh?"

A malevolent, slither of a whisper just for Lauren to hear.

Okay, now _that_ was a tone of voice I never, ever, _ever_, wanted Jasper Cullen to use with me.

It spoke of blood and guts and things I couldn't even imagine. Never, I say.

Then like time snapping back, the table 11 occupants noticed that their supreme leader was not fighting back. In fact…

"Oh, my god. Lauren. What the hell? Did you, like, peed yourself?!" Jessica screeched loudly.

And just like that, every eye in the diner was glued to Lauren Mallory's very well-known (but never like this) soaking-wet crotch.

Jasper, sidestepping the unholy mess of strawberry and pee, leaned casually over the table.

"Imm'a say this once: No more. You mess with her you mess with me. Understood?"

Five heads immediately nodded.

Turning to Lauren, the same quiet tone belied his warning: "You still owe, Bella here, an apology, little girl. Feel free to apologize at any time. You hear?"

When he pulled himself to his full height, the vibration that had been dancing in the air around us suddenly stopped. A cheeky smile broke out on his face.

And then, for the benefit of every person in the diner, he said much, much louder: "Girl you bettah' go clean up, you're stinkin' up the joint." His expression was a picture of earnestness; even when he waived a hand in front of his nose and made a 'phew' face.

Alice giggled. "Yeah, pee will definitively stain suede…it _is_ Lauren, right? Or maybe…La-urine would be more appropriate?" Her pun was made even funnier by the nasal sound of her sweet voice. Because, yes…Alice said all that while pinching her cute, little nose with two fingers.

Angela giggled and then badly tried to cover the slip with a dainty cough.

Next to me, Esme had a strange combination of disapproval and disgust around the mouth and utter comedy dancing in her eyes. Dr. C looked completely solemn and unaffected...that is, until he caught my eye and winked.

Snapping out of trance, Lauren grabbed her coat and purse and ran for the door. Overpriced sheepskin boots squelching with every step. Wailing.

Jessica, of course, rushed after her, screaming the entire way about how totes embarrassing it was that she, oh-em-gee, _peed_ herself (in public!); like what were people going to, like, say about them now? And to please not leave her stranded here without a ride…

I snorted when I heard tires squealing away from the diner.

Turning around, Jill had finally come out of the locker area (so as to not miss the show, I'm sure) and had my bag and coat in her hands. Sonny and Cora were both openly staring, as was every eye in the joint. Par for the course. Nothing could be done about it. So head up high, I grabbed my stuff with a small thank you and without looking back, I lead the proverbial stampede of pink and purple unicorns _out_ of Cora's diner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: I own Twilight…said no Fan-Fiction author ever (at least not out-loud in front of witness or in writing as it could be used in a court of law). Seriously, I don't own.

**A/N**- Getting into the mind of a certain character in this chapter is like taking a bubble bath in a tub of hydrochloric acid. Seriously guys, this was exhausting and had me teeth-gnashing the entire time (I had to wear my mouth-guard at night!)…So yeah. Also: The F-word is used. Look at the story rating which it follows policy. You've been warned. Finally, let's give a round of applause for Ms. Hadley Hemingway, who beta'ed this like a champ!

Okay, I'm going to say it (even though, I don't wanna): A page-break line means a POV change. I only use those lines for POV changes. Nothing more.

Thank you again for your support! Oh, if you are on twitter, let's chat about CHIB maruxf

**Chapter 8:** The Swan Summit, Part II

(Or, Why Sequels are nothing but Trouble)

"Baby, look! There's nobody home!" Emmett hollered as soon as the house garage door opened a fraction. He also pointed his giant index finger, hitting the windshield of my M3 in the process. As if I needed his direction to see that there were two empty spots in our garage.

"_Watch_ the glass…and you are wrong," I said rolling my eyes. Was he blind?

While the "everyday" vehicles were not parked in their assigned spots, I'd seen a flash of silver parked next to the house, which meant that Edward was still parking his "precious" Volvo as far away from me (and my tools) as possible. He knew me too well to trust that I would not fuck around with his stupid baby.

He was right.

Problem was that his corner bedroom gave him a clear view of his stupid little car at all times, never giving me a chance to improve the mom-mobile by turning it into scrap metal.

Ugh.

Yet, he also knew that not even _I _would mess with the Aston Martin. So he had left it parked inside the garage in its customary place, a protective cover masking the gorgeous mechanical engineering glory.

The sloping lines of the covered V12 made something inside me ache.

I ground my molars.

I wanted that car _so_ bad.

Yet, I would first cut off my nose and burn it before I got one for myself. That car and any other model of perfection designed by the house of Aston Martin were forever out of my reach. Since _Edward_ first owned one, he will forever own them all. If I were to get one, he would lord over me because he had them _first_. He was always first and he _knew_ it. His smugness would be un-fucking-bearable. But I would never give him the satisfaction.

So becasue of _him,_ I would never be able to get rid of that _want._

I clenched my hands around the steering wheel. It was just another of the many things I could not have.

Just the silhouette of the Vanquish made Alice's obnoxious Porsche look even more ridiculous than it actually was. It was like a baboon screech compared to an aria. Then again, talk about a car fitting its owner. An obnoxious car for an obnoxious vampire. A match made in hell.

Jasper's crotch rocket didn't count in my book. The Ducati was okay, as far as those things went, but it was a cop-out mode of transport. It was a gift from Esme to "poor Jasper" because "he can't stand to be enclosed in a car for too long." Thus, he needed this douche mobile. Congratulations, Jasper, on _finally_ managing to not murder anybody like an animal in 20 years. You get a brand new bike!

As I shifted the car to park, I could feel Emmett's paw on the back of my neck. He was pressing gently on the knotted muscles along my spine. It still surprised me how such a big guy could manage to be so gentle when he wanted to.

I was almost relaxed when I felt him accidentally touch the new scar located where neck met shoulder, a keloid-looking silver line marring my previously flawless skin. Yet another thing I had Edward to thank for. I still had a hard time understanding how everything had gone so wrong that night.

I was just trying to make things go back to normal. No more girl equaled no more drama, so I had no problems killing the girl.

I tried to do what needed to be done to make things better, even if the rest of them were too busy coddling little Edward to realize that I was right.

Still I never thought that…

How was I to know that he would…?

So, maybe I _should have_ known that he would be territorial…

Which meant that Emmett was right. Ugh.

As Emmett took care of me that night, he didn't say much, just enough that merest hint of the memory of that conversation still made me fume.

I tried to stop the memory to no avail. It came unbidden and suddenly, I was back _there._

...

Emmett had been silent for hours. He hadn't uttered a single word. Not after everyone turned their backs and left me there alone in the destroyed foyer. Not when I dragged my injured self to the couch. Not when Carlisle came back with supplies to heal my wounds. And not when I rejected his help.

Emmett just stood there. Watching me.

Silent.

He moved only to take the supplies from Carlisle's hands, then dragged me to the forest behind the house.

After the first hour, I swore that if that was the way he was going to be, I was going to ignore his immature ass too.

After the third hour, the silence broke through the limits of my patience.

"Just go ahead and say it, dammit," I growled, exasperated.

He didn't even flinch…just kept swabbing the tear in my skin with gauze soaked in venom. I briefly wondered why he didn't just lick it, why he was barely touching me.

Swab. Swab. Swab.

I huffed.

"What exactly is it you _want_ me to say, Rose?" he sighed.

Swab, dip in fresh venom, swab.

I was _not_ expecting that.

I was expecting him to match my tone, blurt something out, then move on.

The thing about Emmett was that he was simple…uncomplicated. He opened his mouth and revealed the first thing that came to mind, which was the main reason why we got along at all. I didn't have patience for bullshit and Emmett wasn't multi-layered enough to create complication. He said what he thought, he did what he wanted, and moved on when something didn't please him. He wasn't deep and he didn't dwell.

With him, I could float on the surface of the never-ending days and the emptiness.

So, I didn't understand why today, of _all_ days, he'd decided to edit his words, to _dive into the deep end…_to become this passive-aggressive wimp.

Like Carlisle…or Edward. Ugh!

"How about you tell me what you are thinking?" I swatted his hands away and faced him.

After giving me an inexplicable impassive look, he crouched and began picking the debris that he had dropped to the forest floor. One by one, he picked up used gauze, empty wrappers, and crumpled bits of medical sticky tape.

"Don't ignore me! I asked you a question and I deserve an answ—"

"You deserve?…You? _Deserve…?!"_ he ranted incredulously, his volume increasing with every word.

Suddenly, he stood up.

Okay, here it comes. He was back on the surface with me…or so I thought.

However, instead of the screaming match and hot make-up sex, Emmett chose today to go off-the-script.

"Rosalie, since when are _you_ interested in what _I_ really have to say? Huh?" he hissed, his eyes as dark as the sky above him.

Sitting as I was, on a fallen tree trunk, he looked as tall as the surrounding spruces.

The trees and Emmett and the sky…they all loomed over me.

What was he talking about?

"Don't I always listen to your babbling about the latest video game, or whatever it is that captures your limited attention?" I blurted, frustrated.

"_Babbling_, Rosalie? _That's_ what you think?" he asked.

He must have seen something in my expression because he continued, without letting me clarify what I meant.

"Of course. Of-fucking-_course_ that's what you think," he said disappointed.

I was expecting more from him. Usually there always was _more_ from him. Not substance, just _more_. That was just the way his brain worked. A thought would pop in his brain, he would blurt it out. Thought, blurt, thought, blurt.

Today, however, nothing was forthcoming. So I tried again.

"You're misinterpreting—"

"Am I?"

Once again, he interrupted, not allowing me to say what I needed to say.

After a pause, he shook his head and began breathing deeply.

When he opened his eyes, he looked both resigned and resolved.

I was shocked. Emmett was actually_ reining in_ his natural impulsive tendencies, like a toddler finally learning effortful-control.

"Rose, what you did tonight was incredibly stu—"

If he thought that I was going to let this go on, he was sadly mistaken.

First, he was talking to me like_ I_ was the adolescent in this relationship. Second, he needed to understand that he was wrong, that he was misinterpreting, that I didn't really mean it to come out like that.

"Emmett, let me finish! I didn't mean it like tha—"

"No! _You_ let me finish!" he roared.

I sat back on the tree stump dumbfounded.

He had never dared to speak to me like that.

So, I raised my chin and waited, expecting an apology for using that tone with me.

He always apologized when I gave him the "look" after his many fuck-ups.

But this time…this time, he didn't.

After an interminable minute, he took a deep breath and matched my glare with a blank, dead stare of his own.

"What you did today, tonight, to this family, to _my_ family," he pointed a finger to his heart and gulped audibly before continuing, "was, I-I don't know what words to use. The things you said…what you were _willing_ to do to a little girl…no, not willing, you were _happy_ to do it, that's freaking me out. It's made it clear to me that I don't really know who you are…"

I felt an icy cold knot form in my gut. He was my mate. That was his _job_.

"Don't shake your head at me. Stop it! Listen! Me realizing that I have no fucking clue about you anymore doesn't matter right now. That's my shit to figure out, what I'm going to do about how I'm feeling, and it's beside the point right now."

He shoved the trash in plastic ziplock bag and sealed it. He then picked up the stainless steel bowl, dumping the remaining venom to the ground. He turned toward the house and began walking. His entire posture was…reduced.

Was he going to leave me hanging like this?

"Emmett?"

At the sound of my voice, he stopped, but did not turn to face me.

"About tonight…Rose, it was just so supremely _dumb_ to go and challenge a vampire in the state of mind Edward was in. He could have killed you before I even had a chance to react. I would have stood there while he ripped your fucking head off without being able to do a single thing to stop it. But the worst thing is, knowing how it _feels_ to _want_ that kind of blood, I can't blame him."

My mouth dropped open.

He didn't blame Edward for this?!

Why wasn't he on _my_ side?

"And you know why? Because had Isabella Swan been my singer and you'd gone and threatened to drain her, to take _my_ kill away, I would have done the _exact_ _same_ thing he did. Except I _know _that I couldn't have stopped like Edward did. And you know why I know that? Because I didn't…because when it was _my_ singer, I _didn't_ back down like Edward did tonight. When it was _my_ singer Carlisle tried to hold me back. Ask him to show you the scar of what I did to him. You know, as a reminder because your selective amnesia is flaring up again. So yeah, Rose. If it had been me I wouldn't have stopped until the threat was gone, and that makes me a _shit_ mate, I _know_ that. But you know what it also makes me?"

Finally looking over his shoulder, he saw that he was not going to get an answer from me.

I saw that he didn't particularly want one either.

"Rosalie, it makes me a _vampire_."

And then he did leave me there alone with my shock and the possibility that maybe I had asked for it.

...

No!

I ground my teeth.

I did not ask for _anything_.

Snapping my mind away from that terrible night, I resolved to stop thinking about my asshole 'brother' anymore.

Brothers, sister, mother, father…I grimaced at the ridiculousness of it all. We were _not_ siblings. My family was dead. Any _actual_ family I could have built was dead too, before it even started. This absurd farce that we had carried on for far too long was hollow, a little game to cover the fact that we were abominations. All of us.

But especially, Eddie-boy.

So if he thought for one second that he was going to get away with claiming that he'd just mated with that insipid little twit, I—

"Rose?" Emmett's voice broke through my thoughts.

I did not realize I was clenching my eyes until my brain processed the sudden impact of artificial light hitting my retinas. Turning towards him, I saw that his hand was suspended in the air between us. I must have shrugged away from his hand.

And, like every time this happened, Emmett's face froze in neutral. Blank.

I couldn't stand the dimness in his eyes.

I wasn't entirely ignorant about how Emmett felt sometimes, but I resented the responsibility.

Being responsible for his petal-delicate feelings was fucking exhausting.

Since _that_ night, that hurt-puppy look in Emmett's eyes grated at my very core.

He _had_ tried to undo the words he said to me in the forest, like he always did, by trying to act like nothing had happened, but I couldn't forget.

The more he tried, the worse it became.

He stopped touching me for about a week after Edward attacked me, but had slowly begun to approach me again. Now it was me that didn't feel like letting him close. See how _he_ liked to be left hanging. Besides, it was _his_ choice to side with Edward and the rest of the "family." So he could keep taking cold showers until he apologized and I decided it was time to let him off the hook.

"I said you're wrong," I grumbled.

Obviously, Emmett didn't bother to look beyond Carlisle's empty parking spot. The black Mercedes being gone was typical. Carlisle would be out saving the rest of the world, of course, because he obviously hadn't saved enough of us.

"No I'm not! How am I wrong?! Look," he said again gesturing to the two empty spaces and, once again, hitting the windshield.

"I said to watch the glass, Emmett! How many times are you going to crack it by being a careless brute? Huh?" He was plucking my last nerve. My frustration only got worse when I saw the smirk appear on his face.

"You didn't use to complain about my awesome 'brute-ness,'" he said annoyingly making air quotes with his fingers. "Besides, it gives you something to fix on these cars—"

Not waiting for him to finish, I got out of the car.

Over the glossy red surface of the Beamer's roof, I pointed out the obvious to him.

"Emmett, the Jag is parked right there and, if you haven't noticed, the entire house reeks of fabric softener, so June Cleaver Cullen _is_ home."

Before I could see his disapproving look, I turned around and walked in the house.

He had a problem with what he called my "attitude" towards his "Ma"…whatever…his "Ma," my ass. He was just happy his disgusting boxer shorts were kept clean and that he didn't have to do it himself.

"ESME! We are hooommme!" he hollered barreling in through the garage door into the kitchen. The same grand entrance he did every school day in creation.

Usually, Esme would immediately let him know where she was in the house. Not that it was needed, with our hearing we could tell what room she was in doing god knows what. But they insisted in pretending. He would holler, she would invite him to join her, and then Emmett would narrate his entire day to mommy. Esme would just sit there and be _enthralled_ by his stories of high school.

It was all so fake it made me nauseous.

This time, however, no sugar-and-nice "In the studio/In the basement/In the study, dear…" was heard.

_Today_ nobody responded.

"Seems like _I_ was right," Emmett gloated. I was going to smack the smugness out of him, if he didn't cut it out.

"So?" I asked, just knowing what he was going to say.

"So…we have the house all to ourselves!" he grinned, opening his arms wide.

"To do _what_ exactly?"

He waggled his eyebrows…and flashed the dimples.

And this attempt to sway me almost worked.

Almost.

I'd be lying if I said that a good _fuck_ wouldn't be nice right now.

It would, at the very least, help work off some of the tension Emmett had started when he turned his back on _us_, on our relationship.

For which he had yet to apologize.

"I don't think so," I said with finality and started towards the stairs. All I wanted to go to my room and be left alone.

"But, why?" he whined. Bellyached like the child he was. Looking down at him from the fourth step, he had his arms crossed and was pouting. It wouldn't surprise me if he started stomping his feet.

"Because I said so. Go play one of your little games or something. I have things to do," I shooed him towards the gaming area and restarted my climb.

"But—"

Ugh.

I whirled around.

"No! Emmett. The answer is _no_! And it will continue to be "no" until _you_ figure it all out!" I cried, frustrated at his obtuseness. Christ.

His arms dropped in surprise.

He stared at me and a frown appeared on his face. A classic "Emmett is thinking" face. Obviously, he was trying to put his inbred brain cells together to solve the puzzle cruelly keeping his dick out of action.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He stared at me like I was crazy, then shook his head.

"You know what, Rosalie? Fine! Go right ahead! By all means, go do all your 'important' things," he said, again making air quotes and rolling his eyes before continuing. "You know where to find me when you are done admiring yourself on shiny surfaces, thinking about yourself, primping yourself, planning what to do for yourself only, you know? All those _important_ things you waste this fucking life doing."

The next thing I heard was the Playstation game starting up and fresh raindrops hitting the windows.

What the hell was _that_?

* * *

_"…when you are done admiring yourself on shiny surfaces, thinking about yourself, primping yourself, planning what to do for yourself only, you know?...All those important things you waste this fucking life doing."_

_Emmett storming off. Hurt._

_Rosalie stomping up the stairs._

_Emmett playing Grand Theft Auto as violently as he could without actually breaking the remote._

"Allie?" Jasper's honeyed voice welcomed me back from the latest vision. A vision that might as well be a video loop since lately it just kept repeating over and over and over in my mind. Ugh.

"Rose and Emmett are going to argue…again," I sighed, looking out at the trees flashing by the window of Carlisle's "I'm-too-schmexy" black Mercedes. Seriously, the man bought the newest model of the same car every three years. Always black and the growlier the better.

Carlisle met my eyes in the rearview mirror. The super sweet smile he had been wearing since we said good-bye to Bella turned into a frown.

I freaking hated being the messenger.

_Carlisle dialing cellphone. House phone ringing. Emmett and Rosalie arguing. Ignoring the phone. Emmett storming off, hurt. Rosalie stomping up the stai—_

Double-ugh.

"Calling won't help, Carlisle," I sighed. "They'll just ignore it."

"Fuck!" Jasper muttered, next to me.

"Jasper," Esme warned from the passenger seat, but there was no heat in it. She was now wearing a frown that matched Carlisle's. Stupid Rose and Emmett fights.

Mama Esme was almost as fed up with those two as the rest of us. Which was saying a lot since she was like the world record holder of patience…if she wasn't a vampire, for sure we could've called "Guinness: The World Book of Records" and gotten her name submitted.

"Sorry, Esme," Jasper moaned, dropping his head and sticking both his hands in his mop of hair. "It's just that it's gettin' plain unbearable for me. Every damn day in creation, I get the Rosalie-Emmett special," he sighed.

"I understand, dear. Forget it. No need to apologize," she said kindly, turning around and looking at my Jazz. The super tense hand that had been squeezing mine immediately relaxed. I loved that Esme could do that for him with just a look of love. No judgment. No strings. Just Esme love.

She was as awesome as "family-and-friends" sales at Neiman Marcus.

_Edward running, jumping over one of the recognizable river forks. A whoop. A smile. Fast, fast. Giving the Volvo a quick "once-over." Checking for damage. Deciding to join Emmett in his game. The sound of Carlisle's car in the driveway... _

"Edward is on his way home…" I disclosed reluctantly.

This had bad juju all over it.

I had no clue what clusterfluff we were going to walk into…or _cause_ ourselves by walking in the house.

I just had a really, really bad feeling about it. And it seemed Dr. Cullen agreed that a Rose-Emmett argument, plus Edward, minus referees, was a prescription for disaster.

I know he totally agreed because a quiet "fuck" was heard from the front seat the very next second.

Immediately, we all turned towards the utterer of the whispered profanity.

Fact: Witnessing Carlisle cuss was as rare as owning Chanel's one-of-a-kind "Diamonds Forever" alligator tote bag. Which I did. So I _know_.

"Carlisle!" Esme immediately gasped, probably never hearing such words from the oh-so-proper Dr. C. Well, at least not outside their boudoir…

_1:45 a.m. red numbers on bedside table. Tie pulled off. Cuff links out. Button, button, button, button. Tails pulled from slacks. Belt clinking open. Small white hands against chest. A small patch of dark golden hair. Up. Higher. Nipples."Es," A whisper. Then…_

Ew! Ew! Delete. Delete. Delete!

Parent-sexing visions are gross.

Gross, gross, gross.

Yuck…yet, hot damn. It's totally true that it's always the quiet ones. Case in point: my Jazzy, Daddy-C, and, if things held true to pattern, Eduardo. Bella was going to be a happy-happy-joy-joy girl…oh no!

I felt a vision coming…crap! Don't think about "coming!"

_Green grass. Flowers. A creek. Meadow._ _A pale hand grabbing an even paler, sparkling ass-cheek. A gasp:"Edwa—_"

Eeek! Abort! Abort!

Note to self: Never ever, EVER, go _there_ ever again.

When I had sufficiently sanitized my brain, I refocused on the happenings inside the car. In the front "hot" seat, Parental A was getting a severe hairy-eyeball from Parental B.

"Sorry Es," Carlisle said wide-eyed at the same time that Jasper repeated contritely, "Sorry again, Esme."

"You already apologized, Jasper." Parental B disengaged the tractor beam stare away from Daddy-C to once again address Jazz. I had to snicker when I heard Carlisle exhale in relief. Not that I blamed him. That Esme-look was all things chilling. It was like a jumbo-tron flashing "Warning! Warning!" in ochre-colored fury.

"No disrespect, Esme, but Carlisle here needs to be let off the hook. I'm pretty sure that was _me_. Again. I just couldn't hold it in…" Jazz trailed off sheepishly. If he could have blushed, I swear he would be purple. My poor, empathic vamp.

"While I appreciate that Jasper, I must admit that there was some '_me'_ in there too," Carlisle confessed and then turned on the smolder on his "Essy."

"I apologize, my dear."

Then, slower than a geriatric slug racing a glacier, he raised her hand to his lips and placed a wispy, open-mouthed kiss to her knuckles.

He never took his eyes off her.

There may have been some tongue-slippage.

_Not_ that I was looking or anything.

Okay, fine, I was totally sneaking a peak between my fingers. I may have giggle-snorted.

And I swear, Esme Anne Cullen freaking _melted_ into a pile of vampire goo.

Which was completely understandable. The man was a freaking Sensei-master at that English-gentleman thingamabob he had in his arsenal. Almost made one forget how big a nerd he actually was.

Jasper, who no doubt was getting doused by the front-seat goings-on, first snickered, then quickly cleared his throat, suddenly deciding that the trees zooming by were the most interesting things he had ever seen. I'm pretty sure he was regretting not taking my advice about running home from the diner, instead of catching a ride back to the house with Carly and his Essy.

Seriously, she called him Carly.

Sometimes.

It's not like I _wanted_ to know these things, you know.

Still, I freaking loved to see us all so happy. I wasn't sure what to call it exactly, but it was like we were suddenly fancy-free. We'd all been walking through this life with little, sharp pebbles in our shoes. Not enough to stop us from moving, but the moving was uncomfortable. Now, most of the pebbles were out…and it was all because of Bella.

However, the sharpest pebble was waiting at home. A 5'9'' blond, self-righteous vampire pebble.

It was not surprising that we could hear the argument happening inside the house as far out as the beginning of the driveway to our home.

The car hadn't come to a complete stop, before Jasper, Esme, and I burst through the front door.

The sight we encountered was so predictable not even my gift bothered to send me a vision. My vision machine was bored by the unoriginality.

Rose screaming at Edward.

Edward holding himself back.

My vision machine yawned.

"What is the meaning of this?" Carlisle shouted, as soon as he entered the house.

"Eddy here thinks that he 'mated' with that little twit, which, by the way, is an impossibility for you, eunuch! He also believes that means I have to automatically condone bringing that girl into our family!" Rose seethed.

"She's my mate! I can bring her to my home if I want to!" Edward growled, clenching his hands into fists.

"Oh. My. God. You _actually_ think that _you_ mated? And even if you did…she's human, you pervert! A child! And besides what are you going to do, huh? Hold her hand without crushing it? Take her on walks to your secret meadow? Show her your music collection? Play her your piano? Ugh! You think that I'm going to stick around to watch your inept, boring ass, trying to make that damned little girl…what? Fall 'in love' with you? With _you?! _Give me a break!_"_

Edward's eyes bulged the moment Rose spat the word "love."

I moved away and pulled Esme back with me.

His patience clearly had run out.

"I don't care what you think!" Edward roared, so loudly the windows rattled. Not even Emmett, who lived for a good tussle, dared to intervene. Wise man. Especially since we'd all seen what Edward was capable of…not that I would mind him teaching Rose a remedial lesson in butting out of things that were none of her business.

And while he vibrated like a tuning fork of barely controlled fury, Rose just stood there with her mouth open mid-word.

With his brand-new "Edward-death-stare" and that voice he discovered within himself that glorious, terrifying night when he showed us all the depth of his strength, Edward advised with eerie calm, "I'm leaving. I need to hunt again because tomorrow, I'm introducing myself to _my_ beautiful _mate_ and I want to be prepared. You hear that Rosalie? Me. Edward 'The Defect' Cullen has a mate. And not even your bitter, shriveled, rotten soul can make today, or the _rest_ of my days for that matter, any less than absolutely glorious. Even if Isabella never loves me as more than a friend, I _will_ be happy. I may be a repressed, boring vampire, but I am a _happy_, repressed, boring vampire…and Rosalie, you are still going to be you. _Forever_."

And without another word, Edward turned and left.

Esme followed hot on Edward's tracks, probably to make sure he was alright and give him the information we had gathered today about Bella, including her amazing discoveries about our nature, the budding connection with him, and her bond with us.

I wished I could've left myself.

"Let me guess? You are all supportive and happy to allow this madness. Am I right?" Rose snorted, her sarcasm in full bloom.

I was going to beat the snot out of her prissy...

"Alice," Jasper warned.

Ugh.

"We are, Rosalie. Nothing has changed from our previous discussion regarding the future of Isabella Swan and this family. The _fact_ that she is Edward's mate changes nothing, because Rosalie, make no mistake, it _is_ a confirmed fact. Am I making myself clear?" Carlisle said, obviously referring to the first "Swan Summitt."

At first, his tone of voice was typical Carlisle, calm and decisive.

By the end though, his tone morphed into a voice that left no doubt as to how Carlisle was able to gain the respect of the Volturi, decline their "invitation" to join them without losing his head, and build the life he led. It was too easy to forget that, underneath the peaceful leader, there was a man willing to defend his beliefs by any means necessary. It was too easy to forget because Carlisle always began with peace. Dr. Cullen, however, had the scars to show for a life lived against the current and for the most part, alone.

"And how is that a fact? How do we know that Edward isn't making all this up?" Rosalie questioned, obviously reaching for straws. She _knew_ what Edward felt this morning because Jazzy emotion-sploded and we all shared in the awesomeness.

"Actually, Rosalie, we have just come from visiting Bella. We had a open discussion with her and she confirmed it all. Their bond is well underway. Anything else?" Carlisle nonchalantly informed her, moving towards his study and loosening his tie, like he did every day.

Like he hadn't just dropped a Rose-targeted missile of information.

"You spoke with her? About _mating_?" she gasped.

"Did I stutter? I do not believe I did. Did I?" he asked us.

Anybody with a brain should have been able to tell that when the vamp-daddy-O resorted to sarcasm and rhetorical questions, it was a clear sign that you had _not_ _only_ trespassed, you were likely standing in the middle of a freaking minefield.

Eyes wide, Jazz, Emmett, and I obliged him with a shake of the head.

No, Carlisle Cullen. You did _not_ stutter.

From across the room, I heard Emmett gulp.

Carlisle's eyes narrowed in Rose's direction.

After a breathless moment, he stated, "Esme and I had a lengthy discussion with Bella about mating and what it means for our kind. Oh, and if anybody has _any_ questions about _my_ private conversation with Bella this morning at the hospital, where she cleverly discerned our _true_ nature _without_ my prompting, I shall be available in my study. For civilized discussion only."

Oy! Carlisle was not a happy vampire. That last bit about civilized discussion was a zinger with Rose's name on the gift tag. We all instinctively lowered our heads and averted our gaze away from our leader as he began to make his way to his study.

Well, all except Rosalie Lillian Hale who, like always, was just freaking unable to help herself.

"Are you out of mind?" Rosalie screeched back at Carlisle.

He immediately stopped walking and pivoted toward her psycho ass.

Carlisle never moved like that.

A glide and a slither.

Something not human.

It was the beast that lived within all of us but he, out of all the vampires _on_ _earth_, had the tightest lid on. Even Jasper, who knew better than anyone what Carlisle was feeling and the degree of control he had over his nature, reacted instinctively to the sudden appearance of that beast and tensed from head to toe.

"Rosalie," Esme warned, from the patio door, having just returned in time for the really fun part of this evening.

"What? We are in danger and you are all just so happy because the gifted, golden child finally found somebody insane enough to tie herself to him for eternity that you are willing to put my life in danger. And it is always the same thing with _you_ guys playing favorites. Edward lets you all pretend he is the dear _son_, so he gets to sulk, and whine, and be nasty to the rest of us simply because _we_ have somebody and he does not. Alice gets to order us around, but she can connive and manipulate away because her freak gift keeps us from shining like fucking disco balls on main-street. Jasper gets away with murder and I mean that _literally_, because he is the kind of monster you want on your side in a fight. And Emmett is the buffoon that calls _you_ 'Ma.' So it's fucking unfair, that when all I ask is that you to stop this madness and do your job as leaders of this 'family,' you dismiss my needs!" Rose finally finished her diatribe, breathing heavily. Her dark eyes protruded as if the festering anger that seemed to completely fill her these days was searching for a way to escape her body.

The silence that descended after Rose's bitchsplosion was creepy and absolute, like the forest without birdsong. It was so thick that is seemed to be a living thing, an invisible straight jacket, freezing us all in place.

It was the moment before we all fell on the sharpest of blades.

Finally, the sound of Esme's quiet voice pierced through the haze, "And what about _you_?"

"_Excuse_ me?" Rose responded like Esme was crap on her Jimmy Choo's.

I was going to pulverize every single pair of heels she owned _and_ her mirrors. Jasper restrained me at the last possible moment.

Esme, bless her kind heart, was not baited by the bitchiness. She didn't even flinch like the rest of us did. Her breathing didn't change. Her eyes never lost the kindness they always held. And her stance remained open.

After a pause, she just repeated her question, as if that bitchtastic vampire did not hear her question the first time around.

Serenely approaching the cluster of volatile vampires, she repeated slowly, "What do _you_ bring to this family? To this home?"

"Whatever do you mean, dear Esme?" Rosalie mocked.

Carlisle moved forward. I could now clearly feel the vibration of his growl.

Oh, holy shi…

Now would be a good time for a vision.

I need a vision! Now!

Where are my visions when I need them?!

While I desperately struggled to jumpstart the vision machine, Esme's hand gently stopped Carlisle's growly advance. In that awesome way they always communicated, without words and no gifts needed, Carlisle nodded at something he saw in Esme's eyes and stood next to his wife, shoulder-to-shoulder facing Rosalie. The vibration cut off.

Jasper, like the soldier he would forever be, moved closer to Esme, following the implicit direction of his leader.

This maneuver made Emmett twitch and...

_Emmett lunging…Emmett defending Rose with words...Emmett_ _diffusing_ _the_ _situation…or trying to…Emmett just standing there confused, hurt, paralyzed..._

Clearly, Emmett was undecided.

He couldn't tell if the united front was threat or not. It didn't take a genius, or psychic powers, to realize that if _I_ moved to join Jasper like I really, really wanted to do, the indecision would disappear from his mind and he would defend Rose. So I met his eyes and deliberately took a step back. And while his jaw lost the tension, his eyes were grim. There was barely anything "Emmett-y" left in them.

My big lug, happy-go-lucky brother was shaken to his very core.

Even in his dread, he had the presence of mind to recognize that this was a precipice.

And we were all hanging over the edge.

On the other hand, Rosalie failed to notice the line appearing in the sand.

And, because she always had to have the final word, she plowed ahead.

"What? So now I _have_ to contribute something? I go to school. _High_ school. Over and over. Just so dear ol' dad over there can do what he wants to do. So you get new "projects." So Alice can dictate our futures and Jasper gets yet-another chance not to be a fuck-up! _I_ could pass as a college student but no, I can't _be_ one, because Edward can't believably pass for one and without his fucked-up gift we are not safe anywhere!"

She was a runaway-train, not to mention that she was crazy-talking because she and Emmett had gone to college without the rest of us, _multiple_ times. It was just in the last decade or so that her paranoia forced her to follow Edward whenever he went to take advantage of his mind-reading…or whatever. An experience infinitely more painful to him, than it was for her. No question.

"So what do _I_ contribute you ask? Let me tell you, I'm a good little vampire. I pretend to be a perfect Cullen 'child.' It's not like I can do what I actually want do to, have a _real_ family…because that was _taken_ from me," she hissed.

Angry. She was so, so angry. Her eyes were burning us.

Damning us all.

Oh…

_Red. Haze. Carlisle thrown against the wall. Red haze. An arm snapped. A head off…in Jasper's hand…holding it by long blond-hair. Emmett attacking. Carlisle incapacitated. Jasper and Emmett ripping at each other. Esme walking behind Emmett. Esme whispering to herself, "It's up to me." Dark._

Then, just as suddenly as it arrived, that future evaporated.

When the vision released me, I saw that Rosalie's eyes were clear of the red haze. Not that there was anything nice or gentle in her stare, but at least the crazy fury was under control.

For now.

But for how long?

The metal banister creaked when Rosalie tightened her grip.

"So, Esme dear. You are absolutely correct. I don't do _anything_," she arrogantly concluded.

The thing is that to go after Esme is like kicking kittens and boiling puppies.

I growled. I couldn't help it.

Kittens were cute and Esme was too good to be subjected to this kind of crap.

But this was typical Rosalie, always underestimating everybody and overestimating her own value.

"Is that all?" she asked rhetorically, the taunting smirk still pasted on. Without waiting to be dismissed and without giving any of us a second look she strutted towards the stairs. Obviously retreating to her viper nest.

She was completely out of her mind.

I mean, sure, before now, I thought I _knew_ how sick Rose was. But to see her deliberately try to cripple this family by questioning the love we shared, one the things most precious to Esme was enough to finally bring it home. Rose needed help.

More help than we could give her.

And, even if we could, it was help that she wouldn't ever accept from us.

I was about to tell her off and order her to apologize, but I didn't get the chance.

The silence was broken by the most melancholy whisper I'd ever heard in my entire life.

"Pretend," Esme exhaled.

_Rose and Emmett. Rushing around their room._

Fuzzy. Out of focus.

Rose whirled around. Her pretty hair prettily bouncing against her ugly, pretty face: "Wha—?"

"You pretend. That's what you said, right?" Esme questioned, taking a small step forward.

"I don't mean to be the slow little wifey, Rosalie. I just want to be absolutely sure of what you said. So you _pretend_, correct?" Esme voice sounded smooth on the surface, but underneath it was all kinds of jagged and dangerous.

Another step.

Jazz's Adam's apple swung down and then up, as he swallowed the rush of venom that was probably flooding his mouth.

Confirmation.

This was _not_ good.

_Emmett irate. Messily emptying drawers. Rosalie dazed...useless._

_Clothes stuffed in black plastic bags._

More solid now…oh god, oh god, how to stop this?

I decided to interrupt, just to see if…

_"Esme…Rose…let's just sit down and…_"

_"Alice, don't."_

Okay. That won't work. Esme would not allow it. Maybe if Carlisle…

No. No. No. That made Rose's red haze come back.

I could see Jasper breathing heavily, bent at the waist, his eyes clenched.

But I couldn't feel him.

I was positive that he had to sense my panic. He had an exclusive Alice-channel, or so he said, so he must have known that I was freaking out.

Yet, for some reason, he was not influencing the storm of feelings around us.

Why was he letting this happen without interference?

"You _pretend_ to be a Cullen child. You _pretend_ to be a part of this family. You _pretend_ in this life, this life that I adore, that we've struggled to build and to maintain. You _pretend_. You condemn the very things about our life that provide you the comforts you _abuse_. This is _not_ make-believe…"

Rosalie snorted.

_Hasty packing. Suitcases…Emmett in a panic. Standing there. Not knowing where to go…_

Solid.

No way out now.

But Esme continued, undeterred, taking another commanding step toward Rosalie with each statement. With each step, her voice grew steelier.

"You treat this life _and_ the people in it as if they were _expendable_…as if you are doing _us_ a favor by gracing us with your presence," Esme spat. "But this is a real family. _My_ family. And the only thing I've ever wanted for you, what we've _all_ wanted for you is to find the same comfort and joy in this family that we do. But you don't want that. Do you?"

And, as if to prove what she was saying, Esme took a final step.

She slowly placed her hand over Rose's still clenching the stair rail.

And, immediately, Rose yanked her hand away.

Her expression showing only distaste at the contact.

This was _it_.

Esme closed her eyes and her face crumpled.

When she looked up, she had the face of somebody left with a just one option.

"You reject our attempts to reach you, pushing us away on the good days, and on the bad ones, you go _out_ of your way to make the rest of us as miserable as _you_ are in this life. I cannot allow it anymore. I will not allow you to hurt us anymore. Your _pretending_ makes it clear that you don't believe in the very thing that bonds us Cullens together. And, until you do…you are _not_ welcome among us any longer."

Rosalie's smirk froze. The haughtiness contorted. Her mouth slowly opened.

My sister's terrible face slackened.

"What?" Emmett gasped.

Carlisle dropped his chin to his chest and covered his eyes with a hand.

Jazz was barely holding himself together now, bent at the waist at a ninety-degree angle and holding his breath. He was trying to take it all, absorb it all, and not project it.

But it was too much…

It was all too much.

We had tipped over and now we were falling.

My lip trembled, which was totally stupid because not a minute ago, I was planning the demise of Rose's shoe collection and her mirrors. I felt foolish because, even after all this crap, I would miss the witch. I always hoped that she would someday want to be my friend. Stupid silly of me, but I thought that as long as she was here there was the possibility that she would. And I kept hoping for that _one_ day.

Eternity is a long time to be without friends. I mean, being mated is fabulous and Jazz is a hundred kinds of delish, but there is something so special about having a best friend. Now, Rosalie's own words had made it _real_. My hope was dumb because she was never going to love me like I wanted her to. For too long, I had ignored the present we both lived in because I kept hoping for a future that was never going to happen.

She didn't tolerate me or Esme. At all.

She barely tolerated Jasper.

She grudgingly endured Carlisle's leadership.

She despised Edward.

And now, Esme had cut the cords that were strangling us all.

But Emmett…oh, Emmett.

"Ma…I don't understand…what do you mean? What are you saying?" Emmett rasped.

He was desperately searching in Esme's eyes for an out, a magical escape hatch that would save him from what was happening because of his mate.

The rug had been pulled from underneath his feet.

"Emmett, you are welcome to stay. But if you choose to leave, please know that our door is always open to you, to visit, to stay, to come back. For whatever you want to do and for however long. Do you understand? This is your _home_ and it will always be your home. You are _our_ Emmett," Esme said, and grabbed his chin.

"Look at me," she commanded kindly. "But, like the_ rest of us_, you need to think long and hard about the state of your relationship with your brother. You need to figure out _why_ you feel you need to treat him the way you do. And you must fix it. To move on from this, we _all_ have to do the same. And we will."

She sighed, regret and guilt all over her face. "You are going to be okay. You are so strong, Emmett. Do what needs to get done."

After a second of looking straight into her eyes, his brow cleared and he accepted his "Ma's" order with a nod.

_Grabbing Rosalie by the hand. Pulling her up the stairs. Getting the suitcases. "Pack." Rosalie frozen. "I said pack, Rosalie Hale." Emmett. Firm. Resolute. Opening the safe. Getting documentation and money. Rosalie talking but no sound. Emmett getting keys to one of their private properties. Rose getting hazier, blurry. Her mouth still moving. No sound. No sound coming from Rosalie. Emmett ordering,"Not now. Just fucking pack!"_

In my mind's eye, Rose's image became blurrier and blurrier.

Until it blinked out.

Dark.

Decision made, Emmett took a big breath. Straightened his spine and stared right into Esme's eyes. He even smiled a little, those dimples of his making a brief appearance.

"I will, Ma. Don't be sad, or guilty, or any of that crap. You hear? I know shi- things have bad for a while and that I've been unfair and acting crazy too. I understand."

Then he enveloped a sobbing, shaking Esme-mess in his tree trunk arms.

_Driving. Seattle. Airport. Alaska…Driving. Seattle. Airport. Edmonton…Seattle hotel...Alaska._

Coming beside them, Carlisle was so distressed he could barely get the words out. He sounded like somebody had him by the neck: "Emmett, I'm so very sorry about all—"

"I know, Carlisle," Emmett interrupted and smiled sadly. "The same thing goes for you too, old man. None of that sadness crap, okay? Will you explain to Edward? I don't really think I can. You know, he won't get that this is not his fault and he'll do something nuts out of guilt, like moving away or something, some martyred act to try stop this mess."

He was right. Yet, wrong.

Maybe yesterday's Edward would've felt so guilty over this rift that he would've left, or tried something equally dumb. But today's Edward was changed. Irrevocably.

And then, I understood why Jasper hadn't butted in to stop this disaster from happening.

Why no decision would've have stopped this…severance.

The very thing that was taking my big brother away would keep Edward here.

With his Bella.

They both would do what was right for their mates _and_ for themselves.

Things were changing. And things were going to change even more. We would fall apart if we did not repair the cracks that were threatening the very foundation of who we were together.

Emmett needed to figure out how to put back together his relationship with Rose, but he also had decisions to make for _himself_ too. He needed to figure out how he fit in this family, with or without her. As an individual, Emmett fit into the Cullen puzzle without problem. However, as Rose's mate, Emmett had been acting in ways that were damaging to the rest of us. His relationship with Rose was held together with just rubber bands and tape. It was held together at Edward's expense. Picking on Edward was the only thing these two ever agreed on anymore.

But Esme was super right to say that how _we all _treated Edward needed to change.

My chin started to wobble again.

We were so selfish, and inconsiderate, and neglectful, and…and…mean to him. I took his room! I was so excited to finally find my family that I didn't think! We decided things and only included Edward in the decision-making to ask what he was hearing in human minds around. We never thought to ask what _he_ thought. Carlisle and Esme were much better about including him than the rest of us, but even _they_ sometimes assumed that Edward would just go along with whatever was decided.

_That_ was the problem. We never, ever thought about him because we were selfish, inconsiderate, neglectful…

Jasper's hand on my shoulder cut my trip on the self-flagellation bandwagon short. Too short.

I deserved it.

_We_ _deserved_ to feel horrible! Because we _were_ horrible!

How could I not see? How did I miss it?

"We'll make it right," Jasper whispered in my ear, promising me not the outcome, but his best effort to fix what we had broken.

Esme was still holding on to the giant vampire as hard as she could. She was sobbing, ignoring Carlisle's quiet reassurances, and swatting away his attempts to unwrap her tiny arms from around Emmett's chest.

Even in the middle of all this, terrible sadness, Emmett smiled softly and patted Esme's head.

"Ma…Esmesita…Esme Cullen," he tried to get her attention to no avail. "Woman, you killin' my oyster, yo…" he said in his best rap god voice.

Which made us giggle.

Esme finally lifted her head and smiled her "Oh, Emmett" smile. She even sniffled, which I always found super cute since she couldn't really have a stuffy nose, but she did it anyway. It was things like that that I didn't do because, well, I just don't remember what real crying or getting a stuffy nose felt like.

After Esme released him, Emmett gave Carlisle one of those ManCard Club-approved shoulder squeezes, and gently transferred his "Ma" into Carlisle's waiting arms. With a final forlorn-yet-determined look in his eye, he turned, grabbed a still-frozen Rose by the elbow, and dragged her to their room.

Suddenly, I felt it. My knees buckled and my conscious mind disconnected.

I knew what was coming.

So I didn't fight it.

I just closed my eyes and let the inevitable storm of visions take me away.

When I came to, I realized that hours must have passed. It was dark already.

I couldn't hear any traffic in the 101 Highway. The forest around our home was quiet. The waters of the Sol Duc in our backyard calmly lapped the banks.

There were no Emmett sounds. No boisterous laughter, crashes, or general mayhem.

There were no sounds of metal parts grinding, bolting, or pounding coming from the garage.

Jasper's long arms were the only thing grounding me. If not for them, I felt I was going to evaporate, float away into space and dissipate into nothingness.

Looking around the room, I noticed that Esme and Carlisle were in a similar position on the opposite couch.

The fireplace was the only source of light.

"Hi, sweetheart," Esme murmured from her perch on Daddy-C's lap.

"What time is it?" I really hated when this happened.

"Ten past midnight. Are you alright?" Carlisle asked, concerned, probably because I was more out-of-it than usual when I had these vision "storms."

I didn't know what caused them, just that they started with a bad feeling, but no decision. What they all had in common was the level of chaos that they predicted.

Predicted, my fanny.

It was like a gift malfunction. My vision antenna suddenly started receiving futures that weren't decision-dependent. Carlisle theorized that it was another facet of my gift that was perhaps still developing.

Under yet-to-be-determined circumstances, I would get visions of the "inevitable."

And it sucked.

The last time this happened was just a few months ago.

It was Christmas day, 5:57 p.m. Though I had a "bad feeling" all day, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I was arranging the new shoes Santa Jasper got me when suddenly the entire world was screaming inside my head.

Sunny day. Beaches. A wall of water. Running. Water. Dark, sharp water that cut and broke and killed. Life just floating away.

When I came to, I could hear the news anchor in the background breaking the news of a mega earthquake off the coast of Sumatra that produced a tsunami…too early to tell the degree of impact.

But I _knew_ the degree.

I'd seen.

And what truly, absolutely sucked about these visions, is that they would be fuzzy, barely understandable, until the "inevitable" happened. Had I had not heard the news about the tsunami, I would have never been sure of what I'd seen.

All that without a decision. Just a "bad feeling" like the one I had in the car today.

So, no, I was _not_ alright Carlisle.

Something "inevitable" was coming.

"I'm okay," I said anyway.

"Honey, what is it?" Of course Esme wouldn't buy it. My face was probably showing the freak-out currently in progress.

I hated when I didn't know what was going on and I could see the expectation in their faces. They needed some information…anything. But I wasn't about to tell them some vague doomsday vision of dark ribbons of cloth, ash, and fire. It would only serve to worry them and it's not like I could even make sense of I'd just seen. So I shook my head, clearly letting them know that I was not ready to talk about it. Instead, I told them what I'd seen as Emmett made his decision to take charge.

But even _that_ vision had something weird about it.

"They are going to Alaska, I think. It's all fuzzy…" I muttered, trailing off.

Stupid, no-good talent.

"I mean, Alaska is what Emmett wants to do. Rose is not…I'm having trouble seeing her," I confessed. While Rose and I weren't the closest, she was usually so resolute (read: stubborn) that her decisions were broadcast in hi-def with surround sound. Now, it was like…

"…it's like she's gone dark."

"What do you mean she's gone?" Esme cried, panicked, clearly misunderstanding. "What have I done?"

"No, Esme, she's fine. She's there with Emmett. I can _see_ her with Emmett. They'll be arriving in Seattle soon. Emmett decided to stay there until they get a better idea of where to go…I thought about making hotel reservations for them but that would not fly with Rose right now, and I really don't want to make dealing with her more difficult for Emmett than it is already. As for Rose, I can't really see her future, at least not independently from Emmett's decisions," I tried to explain, but I could see in my parents' faces that they didn't quite get it.

I sighed.

"It's like something is broken, guys, like watching a movie with one of the characters on 'mute.' It's just a bunch of one-sided dialogue. So Emmett can decide all he wants but, if she decides to override his decisions, I don't think I would be able to tell, at least not until Emmett decides something else. If he stops making decisions and lets her take the lead, then I don't think I will be able to see either of them at _all_," I concluded lamely, focusing on the slight smudge on the left toe box of my patent-leather shoes.

The only sounds were the ticking clock on the kitchen wall and Esme's jiggling leg.

After 316 ticks, Esme broke.

"I am horrible," she wept, wringing her hands, her sobs starting all over again.

"Es, look at me. Look at me, love. You are not horrible...I am sorry. So, so terribly sorry that I put you in the position of having to make the decision I should have been strong enough to make myself long before today. You did what you had to do to. What _I_ should have done. It is I, who has failed. _Me_. And not just today, I have been failing for a very long time. Please, Es, never think that about yourself," Carlisle begged her.

"It's just…what kind of person does that? I kicked her out!" she shrieked.

"Esme, may I ask you a question?" Jasper asked, his voice all soothing and kind.

Dr. Whitlock was making a house call.

After a beat, Esme nodded.

"Why did you?" he asked, without judgment.

"…ask her to leave?" Esme asked between dry sobs.

Jasper nodded.

"She was hurting you. And Edward. And Alice and Emmett…" she stopped, her lips thinning to a tight line. Poor Esme was a mess. Her usual impeccable self was disheveled. Blouse wrinkly. Hair everywhere. The shadows beneath her eyes, dark like bruises.

I probably looked no better.

"Go ahead," Jasper gently encouraged.

"She was so unhappy here and the more we tried to be what she needed, to _help_, the worse it got. She didn't need to say it, and I don't need a diploma to understand that Rose feels trapped in this life she abhors. I know what that feels like, to have no way out…I jumped off a cliff because of that feeling. But Rose lashes out. _She_ puts her hurt on others."

I was shocked. Esme never _ever ever_ directly referred to her suicide. It was always "when Carlisle found me" or "I was hurt very badly." Never had she said "I jumped."

It was chilling to hear her say it. What she must have felt? Right before and during. Making the decision. Jumping, knowing what awaited her.

"Did you want her to leave?" Jasper kept up the interrogation. Like the awesome therapist he was, he was trying to get _her_ to work out the answers herself.

Esme shook her head and pursed her lips.

"You're conflicted. Why?" Keeping her honest.

"It wasn't the right thing…to keep her here. I've already kept a child that I should've let go and I hurt him in the process. I wasn't about to do it again," she confessed, shame coating her words.

Edward. She was talking about Edward like she was the only one responsible, but we were _all_ guilty of that.

"And? Come on, Esme. You can do better than that," Jasper drawled, lightening the mood a bit.

She rolled her eyes and continued. I smiled a little. He was about three questions away from an Esme-huff.

"I am not what she needs and I tried to make her happy in this life. I forced the matter because otherwise it meant that _I_ was failing at my job. I made it all about me, about me wanting to be a mother to you all. What makes it worse is that I _know_ I am not your mother, even less in Rose's case. So in a way, she _was_ right. We _do_ pretend about some things," she admitted sadly.

"But there's a difference, right? Which is _why_ you are conflicted?"

Prod, prod, prod. He was going to get his ears pinched.

I swear Esme growled a little, and at the sound, the line between Carlisle's brows disappeared.

"We might pretend to be a mother, a father, brother or sister, but the love we share is _not_ make-believe. And while I'm not sure that Rose herself knows what she wants in terms of her relationships, what I am _sure_ about is that Rose, at _this_ _point,_ is too sick to love anybody at all. Combine that with her need to undermine the very relationships she rejects, and I was left with no other choice. She's miserable here and the more miserable she became, the worse she acted towards the rest of you. It would be up to _me_ to let her go," Esme declared, sitting straighter and straighter with every word.

Jasper made a "keep going" gesture with the hand that I wasn't squishing.

Esme huffed.

"I'm conflicted, Jasper Whitlock Cullen, because as much as I want her to be safe and loved, I also know that her increasing rejection of the core values of this family was starting to fray the very thing that makes us who we are…and that _thing_, whatever you want to call it, is the _only_ thing that keeps the red out of our eyes. Something had to be done to stop it," she finished, grumpy, but she wasn't crying anymore.

"So you did what you thought best under really bad circumstances, for her, and for the rest of us. An intervention, if you will," Jasper stated matter-of-factly. "Seems to me that's exactly what a good mama should do."

"You…you are insufferable sometimes," Esme grumbled, crossed her arms, and turned away from his infuriatingly, self-satisfied, smirky face.

Carlisle stroked her back to calm her down, all the while sharing a grateful grin with Jazz. If Esme was huffing and puffing that meant she wasn't self-flagellating.

"Maybe this explains why Alice has _disengaged_ from Rose. Why her gift isn't working like it used to," Carlisle speculated. No doubt his geeky mind was probably already categorizing and cross-referencing facts about vampire lore and god-knows-what. I hoped the Big CC had at least a working theory, because I had no clue why Rose had suddenly fallen off my radar.

"What are your thoughts, Carlisle?" Jasper questioned.

With one look at Jazzy's face, I knew that Nerd #3 had joined the Carlisle party (as Nerd #2 was out somewhere hunting unsuspecting wildlife to psych himself up to meet his better half).

"I believe it's the coven bond. I was not sure that it was possible for the bond to be broken unilaterally, but it appears that Rose's tethers to this family have been severed, at least partially…" Carlisle trailed off.

"By me?" Esme asked, aghast.

"No, Esme. I can still feel us all connected to her," Jasper reassured her. "But I think you were right. I believe Rose needs to figure out what the hell she wants and needs in her life, and right now, it ain't us."

Jasper sighed and gave me a squeeze.

"The thing is, from now on, Rose is goin' to _have_ to take the reins of her own life, which means she will have to face head-on the reality of her choices. This is a good thing. Rose has, for far too long, been hiding from herself. Now, there's no safety net, nobody else to blame, and no target for her anger. I know that it's a poor consolation but, for some people, rock bottom is the solid ground they need to begin again," Jasper concluded.

Then suddenly another vision...

"Oh!" I exclaimed.

"What is it, Ally?" Jasper was eyeing me, concerned. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's just that some things happen exactly the way that they are supposed to…"

And I smiled.

* * *

"Oh dear baby Jesus, I forgot the freaking alarm!"

One second I was dreaming the dreams of the drugged, and the next, I was wide awake and fully cognizant of the following facts:

One: After the diner, the Cullens, and the golden shower thing, I came home and took the muscle relaxant Dr. Cullen prescribed. My back and neck felt funny. Tense. Achy. I actually took only half the prescribed amount. I have a healthy respect for psychoactive substances. I mean, take a gander at my family history. Drugs and alcohol are things to avoid if you're hanging from a genealogical branch such as mine.

Two: I started feeling foggy almost immediately after taking the little white pill. Which was probably why I could only vaguely remember semi-discussing with Charles Swan why I allegedly "attacked" the Mayor's daughter while at work. I think I explained what happened somewhat coherently. I do remember mentioning that Carlisle and Esme witnessed it all. And that Jasper Cullen had only asked Lauren to apologize and _then_ she had her…erm, _accident_. The peeing thing actually got me a mustache-twitch in the upwards direction. Maybe. It may have been double vision. Yet surprisingly, the Cullen name-drop totally cooled Charlie's blotto jets. Maybe Chief Swan hadn't bought the Cullen-hate Billy Blackhole was selling.

Three: I definitely fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. The last thing I remember was thinking, "Don't forget to set the alarm, Bella." And then nothing.

Which brings me to now, sitting upright panicking on my bed with a sleep t-shirt half on and my yoga pants still hanging off my left ankle. Clearly, I didn't quite manage to complete my pre-bed routine before my brain went "bye-bye" into Morpheus' land.

After one look outside, the panic evaporated.

It was still dark.

I didn't sleep through my first meeting with…Edward.

In fact, looking at my clock it was only 4:15 a.m.

Super.

There was no way I was going to fall back asleep now, and not only because of all the sleep I'd already gotten.

I was meeting him in less than 4 hours! _Him_!

I wiggled a happy dance.

Getting out of bed, I remembered that if I didn't do something about my sneakers I was going to meet Edward Cullen…my, uh, mate…with sour-milk smelling shoes. It was bad enough that they were ratty as hell, but milk stink was a no-no.

_Especially_ after Esme's explanation about vamp senses.

So, might as well start the day.

After taking a shower, I took the milky shoes and went down to the laundry room. Charlie's snores were loud and steady, so I didn't think twice about putting the stinkers in the washing machine. Only after I sent a quick prayer to the sneaker gods, though. Please let them stay in one piece and don't let me ruin the appliances.

Then, I made myself as comfortable as possible on top of the drier and began to read my book for English class. Or re-read, I should say. Lord of the Flies. I'd read this when I was 13 just for fun. Yet, yesterday during class, some genius asked when the king fly was supposed to show up. Needless to say, the level of literary analysis and discussion in Forks' classrooms was low. I felt like running away screaming, "It's the pig-head-on-the-stick, Einstein!" But alas, I did not.

I sighed. Maybe I can discuss these things with Carlisle or Jasper. They both had the look of incognito, unrepentant bookworms.

Edward too.

I wanted to sit with him for hours talking about anything and everything. Getting to know him. I wondered how old he was. Amazed that at what he could've seen and done. What made him happy and sad. What was his favorite book and why. His favorite sound. His favorite word. His favorite artist, singer, time period…

I don't know exactly what made me look up and out the window. It could have been a twig snapping or the wind.

It could have been anything.

But it wasn't anything.

It was everything.

Initially, I thought I was either delirious, died and gone to heaven, or still dreaming. The impression I got from our introduction was that the Alice-vision-fail ratio seemed to be virtually non-existent and she had said 7:33 a.m. And, well, it wasn't 7:33 a.m.

My second thought was that Charlie's shabby, laundry room window proved to be the poorest of frames to encompass _him_.

Surrounded by darkness, his moon white skin shone from within.

Every line of his face, his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, arms, trunk, legs, his fingers…were already as familiar to me as the landscape of my own body.

"Edward," I whispered.

By calling his name, I was naming him for myself.

And in my voice, he became real.

Solid.

Not a dream or a hope or a wish.

_Real_.

The small, tentative smile that broke on his face was all I needed.

This morning the distance across the parking lot felt immense. Tonight, though, the space between him and me faded away, unnoticed.

I was suddenly across the yard, standing right before him.

In the orbit of his presence, what he meant to me now, what he would be to me, what I would be for him and with him, all that already _was_ and all the _potential_, was blinding.

I didn't realize that tears were bubbling over until I felt the whisper of his hand against my flaming cheek.

The water and salt pouring out of me was made of every moment I was alone, scared, and desperate to find the safety of enfolding arms. It was a purging and the discovery of that precious peace, the opposite of loneliness. Compassion had been smothered. And I had been holding my breath for far too long.

All it took was his one gentle touch.

And I was released.

A/N #2- That part where I say this: _"__The water and salt pouring out of me was made of every moment I was alone, scared, and desperate to find the safety of enfolding arms. It was a purging and the discovery of that precious peace, the opposite of loneliness. Compassion had been smothered. And I had been holding my breath for far too long." _That is a PARAPHRASE of my favorite line of my favorite book of all time, Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth." If you have not read it, run (don't walk) and get it. Lily Bart is the most perfectly-flawed, perfect character there is. I'm taking Ms. Wharton's words, but not the credit. So yeah, put them pitchforks away!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Yo no soy la dueña de Twilight, pero soy la dueña de CHIB. *Sticks tongue out*

A/N: I was so nervous about chapter 8 (ask Hadley Hemingway, my fantabulous comma-splice killer/semi-colon eradicator, who aside from beta'ing 13k words without batting an eyelash also had to talk me off a ledge) but you guys were so unbelievably supportive with your thoughtful opinions, ideas, and theories that I may or may have not done the "running man" around my living room a few times. Keep sharing with me! I love it. PMs, twitter ( maruxf), carrier pigeon, smoke signals…it doesn't matter. Just keep it coming! Now, onto the breach!

**Chapter 9: Too Dear, This New Day**

_"This new day is too dear,_

_with its hopes and invitations,_

_to waste a moment on the yesterdays."_

- Ralph Waldo Emerson 

My brain short-circuited.

It just couldn't wrap itself around the idea that this…_being_ was for _me_.

That somehow, for some inexplicable reason, unremarkable Bella Swan had been selected for this extraordinary experience. That, after 17 years of being a hindrance, an afterthought, a mistake, I was finally getting a _chance_. And for that chance to be with _him_ was catastrophically scrambling my mind.

Seriously, how was this even possible?

Three months ago, I was sitting in a dark shabby apartment with eviction notices stuck on the door, trying to figure out how I was going to feed myself, turn the electricity and gas back on, find money to give to the creepy landlord, and find where the hell Renee had disappeared to with my sad, little college fund.

Two months ago, I was sitting in the fake-cheery living area of a group home, listening to an overworked, overwhelmed social worker say, "We've finally located your father, sweetie." As if I didn't know where Charles Swan had been the entire time. As if I hadn't told the cops where he lived after I got home one day to find that the creepy landlord had _finally_ changed the locks like he had threatened he would. One night spent shivering beneath the school bleachers was enough to show me that, no matter what, I wanted _more_ than this. Looking at my life hastily packed (thanks to the creepy landlord's wife) in four grocery store plastic bags made it easier to swallow my pride. So I walked my underage self to the nearest police station and I gave myself up to the care of the State of Arizona. Two weeks later, my social worker fake-cheerily informed me that my "Dad" had been located. She had no way of knowing how _thin_ the walls were in that place. I was still sitting in that sad room bored by the yellowing, inspirational posters, when I heard her tell the group home director "it was a battle to get Mr. Swan to agree to take in the girl. He don't sound too nice, but it's better than nothing."

A month ago, I was sitting in a dark, strange bedroom in the house of a dark, strange man that just happened to be my father, trying to figure out what the survival plan was going to be in this new cold, wet place. Plans that didn't, that couldn't, extend beyond what it would take to navigate my way through the day I was living. The rest of the days to come, the _future_, was just too far away from my reach, too impossible to even think about.

I had always walked looking down at my feet. I had to. Looking beyond that next step was of no use to me, not when the next step was always so dammed dangerous.

So I kept my head down like I always did.

So I didn't trip and fall over my own two feet…over my own life.

Less than a twenty-four hours ago, I was sitting in my crappy, funky-smelling truck after having fallen once again.

And then, I lifted my head for the _first_ time.

Now, the future was standing in front of me.

Six feet and a couple inches tall, in jeans and the softest looking gray t-shirt ever, crazy hair, soft, concerned eyes, and a tender hand sweeping my tears.

How _was_ this possible?

How can one go from having nothing but a menacing next step in the direction of nowhere, to potentially getting _everything_ I never even dared to dream?

Yet, here he was. And it was mind-scrambling that as long as he and I worked together, we could and would provide each other with exactly what the other needed. This _urge_ I felt within me to be there for him would _never_ go away. And most amazingly of all, according to the Esme-Carlisle grapevine, Edward felt the same.

It was terrifying to feel this way. And it was the safest I'd ever felt.

"Please don't cry," Edward whispered, gently.

Hearing his voice for the first time made my brain flail and drop to the proverbial ground with a thump.

And I, of course, did the exact opposite of what he had so softly begged for.

All hell broke loose.

What had been a gentle stream turned into a torrent of big, fat tears.

I mean, saying that I ugly-cried would be insulting to ugly-criers everywhere.

In between sobs and hiccups and swollen eyes, I could see that my emotional Chernobyl was completely freaking him out, but I just couldn't stop. I just stood there looking at him, wringing my hands clasped over my chest, and bawling my eyeballs out.

That long, elegant hand that had so gently brushed my cheek had pulled back as if burned.

The longer I cried the bigger his eyes got.

He shuffled his feet.

Then, the shuffling turned into pacing.

He pulled his hair. His frown went from slightly baffled to bordering on horrified. He sighed. He pinched the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He paced some more. There was some unintelligible muttering. Then, more pacing with some additional hair pulling.

After what must have been an eternity, I calmed down enough to realize that, at some point during my meltdown, I must have plopped down on a protruding tree root. I also noticed that I was now in possession of a handkerchief delicately embroidered "EAMC" in royal blue thread and a delicious-smelling peacoat over my shoulders (that he was never getting back). Lastly, I was able to open my eyes just enough to see that EAMC had folded his tall frame into a surprisingly unimposing lump of vampire on the forest ground.

There he was…all moon-white, square-jawed, long-fingered mythical creature sitting "crisscross-apple sauce" on the loamy ground about 5 feet away from me.

He was slightly turned away, as if to give me a measure of privacy to fall apart, his eyes focusing on the ground before him.

My vampire was distractedly pushing a rock with a stick.

Back then forth. Then he sighed.

Back then forth. Sigh.

A rock-and-stick miniature forest hockey game.

The sight was so odd and so _human_, that it completely doused my spazz-attack.

He must have realized that I was no longer wailing the night away because, suddenly, his head snapped up. At first he looked relieved that my hysteria had waned, then his eyes widened. Not only was I not crying, I was fighting hard to hold in the sniggers…he'd been caught entertaining himself with a rock and a stick.

With a blur, he chucked the stick over his shoulder.

Hmmm…so _that's_ how they move.

The sheepish, half-wince-half-smile, look on his face was too funny. So I giggled.

He must have sensed the ridiculousness of it all because, a second later, he joined my giggle-snorts with the wackiest sounding chuckle I'd ever heard. It was much louder and less _refined_ than the type of laughter I, for some reason, expected from him. I should not mince words as it was a horse laugh. Maybe it was because he was so regal-looking, that to hear his less-than-perfect guffaws made him even more dear to me.

As our giggle attack subsided, I panicked.

See, I had a plan. It was vague, but it was a plan nonetheless. It involved strategy as to how I was going to conduct myself during our first meeting. I was going to be classy, lovely, and interesting. However, since I'm pretty sure I'd snotted everywhere, _and_ hiccupped, _and_ snorted a few times, my vague plan had gone down Hindenburg-style.

Yet, I believed with all my heart that I could still salvage my atrocious first impression, by blowing him away with absolutely fabulous first words.

I wanted them to be profound, meaningful, and eloquent. Thus, I asked:

"What does the 'A-M' stand for?"

Like I said, profound, meaningful, and eloquent.

Of course.

Bad Bella face-palmed.

For a second, he looked confounded. Understandable. I'd just bewildered myself.

"Oh, it's for Anthony and Masen," he stated.

"Edward Anthony Masen Cullen," I named him again.

My vampire.

_Mine_.

I smiled.

"Hi," I whispered, afraid that this bubble the held him and me in the same space would burst.

"Hello," he whispered back, just as quietly, looking at me like I was the last, icy-cold cola in the desert.

Okay, perhaps a _drinking_ metaphor was not the wisest allegory to use in case of first-time meetings with a _vampire_but, still, that's how he looked at me. Besides, these particular vamps preferred Bambi and Thumper for dinner, or so I thought, if my bizarro vision in the ER was any indication.

Anyway, I didn't mind in the least.

What _was_ bugging me was that he was too far away.

So I forgot about insecurities and rejection and for the second time, I asked a Cullen for what I most desired.

"Edward, do you mind…could you maybe sit here, next to me?" I was probably going to faint and faceplant from all the blood in my body rushing to my face.

But it was totally worth it because after a swallow and a slight darkening of his eyes, he very slowly (like verrrrryyyy slowly) moved from his spot and sat next to me.

It was a _small_ protruding tree root.

Bad Bella fist-pumped.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he explained.

Pshaw! As if.

"Why would you sitting next to me make me uncomfortable?" I really had no idea where he was going with this.

"Well, for starters, I'm a 107-year-old vampire," he said, wincing at the word vampire.

"Really?! I thought for _sure_ you were going to say like a thousand, or something. I feel cheated," I said, giving him a sideways smile.

I had a feeling the _vampire_ was going to have _more_ difficulty with the terms of this relationship than the human. And that, surprisingly, propelled me forward.

"You ignored the part about me being a vampire," Captain Obvious stated the obvious.

"I did."

If he was going to play the Mr. Obtuse card, I was going to return the favor.

I frowned. Was he actually _trying_ to run me off?

"May I ask why?" he questioned.

Ugh. He was going to make me explain it to him.

"Well, I met your father, mother, brother and sister. And they explained things. About vampires and mates. How it works for you…erm, guys and how it seems to be working for me. What, uh, mating means and what it isn't. I know it takes work but, you know, if _we_…" I cleared my throat as the word "we" got stuck in my gullet, "do it…the _work_, I mean, it can be this remarkable thing. A forever type thing…" I trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

"And you are okay with all that?" he asked me, both, hopeful and disbelieving. His eyebrows looked like caterpillars reaching for his beautiful hair. I understood the feeling, I wanted to grab onto it too. I wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

"Yes," I nodded, without any doubt. Those had evaporated the moment I met his eyes for the first time.

"But…why? How?" he spluttered.

I sighed on the inside. This was going to be painful. I started blushing before even the first word came out.

"Because this morning, I…ugh! I _felt_ you. Okay? And for the _first_ time in my little, sad _life_, I found myself feeling like I had found _my_ place, my home. I felt safe and protected. Being here with _you_ feels _right…_like it's the precise place for me to be. And, now that I know that _rightness_, I never want to be without it. But, I also know, somehow, that I can be the same for you…and I want to be, if you'll let me, that is…" I finished.

I was so lame. Ugh.

Still, I did it. I put it all out there.

Now, the ball was in his court.

But, Edward was not moving.

Not breathing.

Nothing.

He had just frozen. Eyes clenched. Lips pursed.

Crap.

I looked away and read the riot act to my tear ducts. No mas tears!

This was a train-wreck. I couldn't look.

Then, the very moment I was about to bolt, or cry, or both, run away crying…I felt his pinky finger brush my pinky finger.

A spark.

What in the world was that?

I held my breath.

Oh, do it again, Edward's pinky!

Come on! Show me that that incredible feeling wasn't an accident.

And, all of a sudden, there it was _again_. His pinky _and_ the spark.

I turned my head.

Cracked one eye open.

Edward's face was turned away and, like my own eyes had been, his were clenched shut. His chest was not moving.

He was waiting for me, it seemed.

Right.

Okay, my turn.

I moved my pinky. Slightly. Just up and then down. Enough contact to feel the little folds of skin of his second knuckle and the tiny gold hairs there.

Just enough to pass the spark back to him.

The second he felt me, he gasped and turned his now wide-open eyes to the space between us.

Looking down at our hands, side-by-side on the mossy trunk, so different and yet the same, made me wish I was able to paint so I could drag all the colors on a canvas and mold with dripping oils this feeling pressing out against my ribcage. A photograph would not be enough to capture the dream coming alive in this moment.

"Would you allow me to hold your hand?" he asked quietly.

His words were formal, but his eyes showed something different.

They were raw and bursting with need.

I recognized in them the same need I'd felt...to belong, to be loved, and more importantly, to love in return. It seemed we had been on mirroring journeys. In his light mustard eyes, I saw every event, every detour, every path leading us to this exact spot. To this time and place that seemed to break relativity in half.

Tongue-tied, I could only nod.

Tenderly, he interlaced our fingers.

Once again, his touch was freeing. With him, I was not afraid to say what I thought, or what I felt. There was no point to shield or protect. I had been stripped bare.

"Look at that," I said in awe of such a silly, mundane thing, but so very miraculous to the two of us. "We fit, Edward."

"Like puzzle pieces," he said, using the same words I did to describe the warmth that filled me when Carlisle and Esme laced their hands at the diner.

I smiled.

I was going to hold his hand forever.

He must have agreed with me because we just sat there, looking down at our hands for several minutes.

The sky turned lilac. This quiet time was almost at an end. Charlie would wake up and I would have to go to school. Plus, I wanted to talk with Edward, even if that meant breaking this perfect silence.

"So…did you talk to your parents about today?" I asked curious as to how that conversation went.

He fidgeted, then nodded. Sort of.

It was more a head-twitch than a nod.

Then fidgeted again.

"Well, I- I didn't actually _talk_ to them, but Esme showed me what occurred at the diner, what you discussed. She, um, showed me...in her mind."

"You read minds?" I yelped, my heart dropping to say hello to my stomach.

"Yes," he responded wincing, as if bracing himself for inevitable rejection. Immediately noticing his distress, I squeezed his hand as hard as I could.

Silly boy, if I was going to reject him for any reason it would be because…

Urm…

Undead creature of the night? Nope. Not because of that.

Blood was the diet staple? Gross, but not because of that.

Prettier than me? Without question, but I wasn't vain enough to care. So no.

Older than Methuselah? Ehh, not that either.

I must have completely turned into a space cadet, while unsuccessfully racking my brain for a reason powerful enough to make me walk away from him, because he asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Ha! I knew it. You can't really read minds, you liar!"

I may have pointed a finger at him and given him the hairy-eyeball for trying to freak me out by trying to pull a "I-can-read-your-mind" fast one over me.

"I can too! But I, uh, I can't hear yours…it's very strange," he admitted, frowning.

His caterpillar brows were facing off.

Suddenly something occurred to me…oh, no!

"Did I break you?"

I winced. That question was not my finest moment as a conversationalist. I blame the caterpillars. They were adorably bushy. Cute. I liked them but they distracted me. Like his eyes, his lips and his jaw did. It's his fault for being so adorable.

He snorted. "Break me?"

"You know, your talent…" I gestured vaguely to his frontal lobe area.

"No, you didn't break me," he smiled and recaptured my flailing hands in his. "Your father is dreaming right now about a fishing boat…a Sun Dolphin Pro model that he has wanted for about 15 years now, I believe."

I gaped at him.

Charlie had a picture of that stupid boat in his room. Framed and everything. The ass.

And with a smirk that rivaled Dr. Cullen's, Smirky McSmirkerson, Jr., explained, "It's just you that is silent to me. It's the first time that has ever happened. I like it. It's very peaceful."

"So you hear _everything_?"

I could only imagine what it must be like to hear everything everybody was thinking. Though I knew there would be times that having him listen to my thoughts would avoid major miscommunication, I liked that I could provide him with some quiet company.

That only _I_ could give him this.

"Yes. The thoughts of my…_our_ family," he corrected himself with a tentative smile, "are the strongest. If I focus, I can hear them clearly two to three miles away. The rest of the thoughts are just white noise. It's loud, often vulgar, and annoying but, for the most part, I am able to _not_ pay attention to it. Yours, however, is the only mind that I cannot hear. I am both curious and relieved," he concluded.

I had begun smiling when he corrected himself and included me in the _family. _By the end, I was grinning like a loon. I realized that it made perfect sense that _I_ would be silent to him. He needed a reprieve from his gift and I could give it to him.

My wacky mind was made just for him.

"Like most things about _us_ it seems like. One of a kind," I said, in wonder.

He nodded with sweet smile before his eyebrows got close together again. His eyes burned with intensity.

"_Us_," he said quietly, almost to himself.

"Yeah," I said just as softly, confirming that there was an "_us__." _

We were a "we." Or we were going to be.

No question.

Suddenly, I was shivering. My yoga pants and t-shirt attire was no match for the chilly, moist air. Not even with his (mine, now) jacket on.

"You're cold. You should go back inside," he said, concerned, but reluctant. He made no motion to unlock our hands.

I wanted to leave him like I wanted a hole in the head. Really.

But, after another even more violent shiver, I knew he was right.

I grumbled.

Standing up with me, he smiled.

"Would it be alright if…" he cleared his throat before continuing, "what I mean to say is, may I escort you to and from your classes tomorrow?"

Edward Cullen was courting me.

I understood that this was something that he wanted and needed to do for me.

While a part of me was ready for him to hit me over the head with a club and drag me by the hair to his cave, another part of me really, really liked the idea of taking my time to get to know as much as I could about him. Bad Bella pouted.

"Yes, I'd really like that," I admitted, just as bashfully. "Good night Edward."

I took a step away from him.

And then another.

Our linked hands finally separated.

And it was like somebody had cut my arm off.

I kept moving backwards (risking grave injury) until the worst of the feeling passed. Looking at him, though not a substitute to touching him, helped.

Just a little.

Bad Bella stomped her feet when I turned around.

I was halfway to the backdoor of the house, when I _just_ had to ask him for one more thing. Turning back, I saw his tall, elegant form still standing where we'd parted.

"Edward, would you say my name? Out loud?"

The most glorious smile broke widely on his face.

"Bella," he whispered.

His eyes fluttered close, head turned upwards towards the brightening new-day sky, and he smiled.

Saying my name for the first time.

With his voice, making _us_ real.

* * *

Running from the Swan house to my home would have taken about five minutes. Yet, I did not want to run. I wanted to _walk_. At human speed. I was having difficulty processing the experience of meeting Isabella. Hearing her nervous, candid, and brave declaration that she wanted an "us" seemed like a dream. Too good to be true. Ephemeral. So instead of rushing by at vampire speed, I walked.

My hands, the very hands that held and were held by Bella's warm ones, brushed against the velvety ferns, the tree trunks and the moss. The sensory experience, the physicality of touch, grounded me and served as reminder that I was not dreaming…or _delusional._

Bella existed and I existed to her.

So lost was I in the memory of her words and her skin and how her small nose scrunched after she blurted out something she found embarrassing, that I almost walked into the Sul Doc river. Laughing at myself, I looked up to the imposing structure Esme had built for all of us.

Carlisle was waiting for sunrise, like he did every day.

But, it was not typical of Carlisle to be this distracted.

True, he did have a _slight_ tendency to lose himself in a book, theory, medical journal, piece of art, or a view. But, it was rare that he would be so completely unaware of my approach. At the very least, my scent would have normally alerted him of my proximity. Yet, I couldn't detect any awareness of my presence in his thoughts at all. His entire beautiful mind was concentrating on the sunrise.

I placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You are getting a bit chilly there, old man. How long have you been standing here?"

_I am always ambient temperature, Edward. Vampire, remember?_

He gave me a sideways look and a small smile, before turning again towards the east. Carlisle was the reason why Esme designed all our houses with more windows and doorways to the outside spaces than solid walls. At first, she bemoaned and complained about having _nowhere_ to hang artwork. However, she quickly realized that few things brought such tranquility to Carlisle as standing by a window or on balcony in quiet contemplation.

He was not praying or, at least, it was not often that he would _actually_ formally pray. It was more like he stood in mindfulness of life, of the beginning of a new day, of the end of another day, a reaffirmation of his purpose, or just a reminder of his place in nature- not an apex predator above the laws of the divine, but just another being in creation.

And while I did not fully agree with some of the points in his philosophy, that he opened his mind to me in these private moments was humbling _and_ peaceful.

_I have not been here long. Just a couple of hours._

I nodded. Yet, that was longer than was typical.

And the smile I'd initially thought was tranquil was actually tinged with melancholy.

Then again, I suspected that the additional time in contemplation was necessary for him, as I had _no_ doubts that whatever happened after I left earlier was not a pretty sight. In fact, the house appeared to be particularly quiet. I could only hear Esme's thoughts. She was in the library, reading…or trying to. Her distracted thoughts were vague, anxious and _worn-out_. She was trying to stop thinking about what could go wrong and the guilt. Instead, she was remembering Jasper's words, repeating them like a mantra, _"…seems to me that's exactly what a good mama should do." Remember Esme. A good mama. A good mama..._

"Edward, son_,_" Carlisle called softly, diverting my attention. With an entreating look and a shake of the head, he requested privacy for Esme.

_It's been a very _difficult_ night for her. For us._

Oh.

I felt my face fall. A part of me knew that leaving after telling Rosalie off was the cowardly way out. She was priming for a fight and I left _fully aware_ that just because I, her favorite target, was no longer in the house, it would not stop her from unloading her anger on somebody else.

I should have stayed.

Yet, I was just so sick and tired of the anger, the vitriol, the never-ending friction, and the confrontations, that the last thing I wanted to do was stay and let Rose ruin this perfect day. As I ran away to hunt, to stretch my legs, to prepare for meeting Isabella, I assumed Rose would exercise only her normal histrionics. Now, however, the silent house, Esme's thoughts, and Carlisle's despondency all pointed to a much more serious conflict than I'd originally imagined.

"Carlisle, where _is_ everybody?"

At my question, Carlisle leaned on the deck railing, his head hanging between his shoulders, as if carrying its weight was beyond him.

_Alice and Jasper are hunting._

Then silence.

Nothing else was forthcoming.

"And Rosalie and Emmett?" I asked, a cold stone of dread knotting in my abdomen.

He sighed, but I could see when he lifted his head that the frown had disappeared. There was sadness in his thoughts, but there was certitude as well.

_According to Alice, Rosalie and Emmett are currently in Seattle._

"Carlisle, what happened?" I whispered, matching his mental tone.

_What should have happened long before now__..._

_Edward, Rosalie is no longer welcome in this home._

"What?" I gasped.

Suddenly, Carlisle's shoulders began to shake. The cedar wood beneath his hands splintered and his eyes clenched, as if the darkness of his closed lids could erase the torment in his thoughts.

_She…oh, God, Edward. She does not love us. She hates us. No! It's me she hates. _Me_. She hates me__,__ but she punishes the rest of you for what I did to her…and Esme had to…because I couldn't. I brought Rose into this life, thus__,__ she was _my_ responsibility, her pain…I couldn't abandon her…even if she…I…_

"Carlisle, don't try to explain. Just show it to me. Show me what happened," I begged him, shocked by his despair.

The very moment he stopped trying to present to the events using reason and logic, the images came forth.

The happiness and love he felt for Bella. His delight in her. The profound joy at her easy acceptance of him and Esme. The excitement he felt for me.

Alice's vision of Rose and Emmett arguing.

Me finally putting Rosalie in her place and leaving. Pride at my newfound strength. Fleeting hope that Rose would let it rest.

Rosalie challenging his authority. Mocking him. His feelings as he grappled to tame that part of him, the _vampire_ _coven_ alpha, that roared at the challenge.

Esme confronting Rosalie.

Rosalie attacking the core values he had dedicated his entire life to preserving. The pure, flinty rage he felt at Rose when she scorned everything he held dear, his family and his mate.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend.

Esme's bravery. The fraying of the very palpable thread tying Rosalie to our family.

Emmett. Collateral damage, but not.

The pain, the guilt, the _relief_. Then the guilt again, because he was useless, powerless, a bumbling fool. His mate had to carry a burden that was his alone. Esme now had to live with doing what he could not do. Her tears.

The fire crackling. Esme on his lap. The scent of her hair and her skin in his lungs.

Alice's vision of his dearest son, me, standing in the moonlight saying the name of his new daughter and smiling.

The quiet of the new day. The same sun rising before him as it had for the last 363 years. And yet, rising today to illuminate a changed world.

"Oh, Carlisle, I knew I should have not gone." I felt the guilt creeping in, like an oppressive blanket.

"No, Edward," he objected, turning to face me. "While the situation is connected to you and Bella, you are _not_ the cause. Do you understand?"

_Son, it was only a matter of time. Rosalie, and Emmett by association, had been on the verge of this precipice for decades. Jasper can confirm this for you, but I am almost certain that there was a part of her that was desperately searching for such a moment._

Immediately, his posture relaxed. Rationality winning over his despair.

I knew the truth of his belief. I'd heard the irrational desire to confront, to destabilize, to hurt, in Rose's thoughts often enough. Yet, it was in my nature to feel responsible, guilty. But that was _also_ irrational, so I nodded my assent.

And he turned his attention back to the horizon.

I could tell that he was still sad but there was happiness in him too.

His face, however, was composed.

Impassive.

It gave nothing away.

As if _that_ would fool me.

So, I started the countdown.

Three…two…one…

_So are you going to tell me about your meeting with Bella or will I have to ask?_

I grinned. "Isn't that what you're doing? Asking?"

He rolled his eyes at me.

"Christ! Carlisle, I swear, you and Jasper are like two old biddies, inveterate gossips the lot of you…" I huffed, trying to stall. For some reason, I felt the need to keep my first moments with Bella private. At least until Alice returned and broadcasted her vision and Jasper confirmed everything I was feeling.

_If Jasper wants to know, he will have to ask you himself. Besides, we both know that once Esme gets to you, she will squeeze every last detail out of you and then, she will tell me, of course. However, you can tell me first, you know? On your terms…_

He had not finished that last thought when an amused voice floated from above.

"Carlisle Cullen, stop using me to get information out of that boy. Do you hear?"

I sniggered at his expression. It was the "Sullen Cullen" face, the original version according to Alice.

"And do not make that face!" Esme, once again, admonished from above.

My sniggering turned into full-blown laughter, which made Carlisle smile.

"How does she _do_ that?" I asked between guffaws.

_Edward, I have wondered that myself more times than I can count. It is an Esme-thing. Or it could be the fact that we have been standing here having a one-sided conversation for some time, and you smell like you either were in direct contact with Bella herself or you broke into Chief Swan's home and rolled around in Bella's laundry._

"As if I would ever do such a thing," I scoffed, rolling my eyes at his absurdity.

_Ah! The hubris of the young__. There__ will come a time, my recently-mated friend, when your love is away on business and you are feeling her absence acutely, and…_

An image of himself, spread-eagled and smiling on their marital bed, surrounded by Esme's laundry appeared. Was he sniffing…?

"Oh dear God, please _do_ stop! I beg you!" I pinched my nose and clenched my eyes as if _that_ would help.

_Are you ready to tell me now?_

His smugness was almost intolerable but, seeing Carlisle smiling like this, was worth all his silly teasing. Especially after what had just happened to his family. Any happiness I could give him was more than worth the price of a few highly uncomfortable mental pictures.

Brushing the palms of my hands with my thumbs, I reminded myself that it was _real._ Yet, thinking back about the past hour, the scope of the implications and the vastness of what I was feeling, left me not knowing where to start.

What was the beginning?

And how could I ever do justice to the most significant moment of my life to this point?

I took a deep breath and decided to start with the first thing about the entire encounter that had struck me dumb.

"I had not intended to go there after hunting but, somehow, I found myself running straight to Chief Swan's back yard. Bella was waking up just as I arrived. She took a shower and came downstairs to do laundry, which for some reason, she prefers to do at bizarre hours of the night. While she was waiting, she sat on the drying machine to read...and I have never seen a more beautiful sight. She was engrossed in her book, when out of the blue, she looked up and saw me standing there, pinning me with those dark eyes of hers...and I could not move, or breathe, or look away. Carlisle, she said my name and it was like she was claiming every cell of my body." I knew I was grinning like a fool.

"She came to _me_, Carlisle. Opened the screened backdoor and marched right to me without hesitation and then..." I trailed off, wincing at the memory of Bella's tears.

_Then?_

"Well, she," I hesitated, "started to cry."

I only barely resisted pulling at my stupid hair. Her distress gutted me.

_Cry? _

No. What I witnessed was not _just _crying. It was pain made liquid by her eyes. It was everything horrible in the world. There are no words.

_Edward?_

"More like, she became hysterical," I blurted.

I did not want to admit that all evidence pointed to it being _my_ fault. That Bella had completely lost it _only_ _after_ I managed to snap out of my amazement and spoke to her for the first time.

I was not going to mention the stick and rock thing, either.

I would never hear the end of it.

_That sounds out of character. Perhaps she was overwhelmed. What was she thinking?_

"That's the thing, Carlisle. I _don't_ know. I cannot hear her mind. She is silent to me."

"Completely?" he gasped.

"Yes." I could not help but smile.

_You seem surprisingly…nonchalant about this. I thought you would be more curious, if not downright…irritable__,__ by this development._

In other words, Carlisle, ever the diplomat, was surprised that I was not throwing a tantrum of legendary proportions.

"I can't explain it. Yes, I wish I could hear her mind. Yet, it's nice, Carlisle. I can have _actual_ conversations with her. I can actively _listen_ to what she's saying instead of knowing what she means to say in advance. I had to look at her expression and her body language as part of communicating with her. Her silence forced me to experience her more completely than if I had known her thoughts. It made me feel…normal. It's very peaceful." I smiled again.

"One-of-a-kind," Bella had said. I agreed.

A singularity.

In that moment, I felt gratitude to whatever forces had placed me in Carlisle's path. That, by giving in to his loneliness and relenting to the pity he felt for my mother, he had made that fateful decision to change me and, thus, gave me the chance to experience this new day. He could have chosen anybody but, for some reason, he changed me. For a long time I resented his decision and could not understand why me, out of all the others sick and dying. Now, however, none of that mattered in the scheme of this new reality.

_It sounds wonderful, Edward. _

"She has allowed me to court her. I believe she understands this implicitly, though I do not understand _how_ she does. It is not typical for the times. Antiquated, even. Yet, she did not scoff at my request to hold her hand and escort her at school."

_Bella sees more than we can understand, Edward. It does not surprise me in the least that she intuited and respected your desire to woo her in such a manner. I also, more than strongly suspect, that Bella craves to be cared for and to care in return in equal measure. _

I frowned when his thoughts briefly turned to the raw need for parental love he felt from Bella in the ER and in the diner.

I also got a glimpse of how their relationship was taking shape. It appeared Bella had found a true home. Refocusing on Carlisle, I noticed that he was, once again, smiling at the weak sun climbing up the sky.

A true home.

It was all so clear now.

"I did not understand before…"

Carlisle sent me a questioning, sideways glance.

"…why you stand by windows to watch the sunrise."

He tilted his head. Curiosity was pouring out of him, but he remained silent.

"It's a reminder, isn't it? Of how close we came to not getting the chance to see this day, or any new day. It's the little decisions, the big choices, dumb luck, fate, the signs along the way, the accidents, the wrong turns and the right ones, all of that combined have led you, me, _us_, to this exact moment in time. Take away any _one_ of those things, and we would not be here today. I would have been dead long before Bella was even born. Or if we go farther back and you refused to participate in your father's raid that night, _none_ of us would be here today. A new day serves to remind us of the butterfly flapping its wings in China. It's chaos theory, but there is _no_ chaos in these results, Carlisle. Bella said that this place was exactly the place she needed to be…with me. And she is right. This is _my_ place too, accidental or not. I would not have it any other way," I concluded, impassioned. Resolute.

All of the sudden, he turned and enveloped me in a hug.

A torrent of thoughts.

Every moment since he first saw me with my mother in a Chicago hospital flashed through his powerful mind: my illness, treating me with everything he knew about science and medicine, those few conversations as I lay dying, my last hours, the rooftop escape with my almost-corpse, clumsily recreating the bites given to him, the microsecond my blood hit his tongue, his fire, my burning, red eyes, my awakening to the thoughts of others, teaching me to hunt, orange eyes, piano notes, less anger and more conversation, yellow eyes, New York City, suffrage marches, speakeasies and jazz, discussions about everything, Ashland, Esme's burning, my dismay, my grudging acceptance, my caring for newborn Esme, my breaking point, the Crash of '29, the silent Bösendorfer, sitting in my abandoned room wondering about red eyes, how my hair felt against his cheek when he hugged me, my orange eyes welcomed, Rochester, listening to the radio as Adolf Hitler took control of Germany, Rosalie, Tennessee, Emmett, Forks, the treaty, blitzkrieg in Europe, Pearl Harbor, D-Day, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the horror and awe at the power humans just unleashed on the planet, Denali, Alice and Jasper, rock-and-roll, dancing with the family while I did my Jerry Lewis "Great Balls of Fire" impression, the Korean War, Rosa Parks, the Little Rock Nine, the freedom rides, the Bay of Pigs, shoulder-to-shoulder hearing the words "I have a dream," President Kennedy dead, the Beatles, Reverend King dead, Apollo 11, watching in awe at the power of the human mind, Ithaca, Vietnam, Woodstock, running from Alice to avoid bellbottoms and flowers in our hair, Watergate, Three-Mile Island, Denali, the first woman sworn in to the Supreme Court, the Challenger, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall," giggling like fools covered in black sludge while dragging terrified wildlife out of the oil spilling from the Exxon-Valdez, the first Iraqi War, the breakup of the USSR, Oklahoma City, Columbine, 9-11 and anxiously waiting next to me at St. Vincent's Hospital for patients that would never arrive, Iraq again, Denali again, Forks again, Bella Swan, how my hair feels against his cheek as he hugs me in this _singular_ _moment_ in time.

Then nothing.

After a minute, Carlisle took a deep breath, his chest expanding and contracting against my own.

His mind was quiet but not like Bella's absolute silence. It was as if Carlisle was processing his feelings at a level beyond consciousness and without words.

After another minute, Carlisle slowly released me. The early morning sun bleached his hair and features white. His eyes, however, were dark and unfathomable.

"Carlisle?" I asked, perturbed by his silent mind.

"I have been standing here today, trying to understand how the situation with Rose had deteriorated to such a degree. For a long time, I have fought against the idea that turning her was a mistake. Yet, I can no longer deny the possibility. She _believes_ this life _is_ a mistake. Perhaps, it is time I stop relying on what _I_ believed to be the right thing to do in that moment standing over her broken body in that Rochester alleyway... Perhaps, I need to look at what _she_ believes and allow that to be the truth. It is _her_ life and _her_ truth, after all. This contemplation inevitably led me to consider _your_ turning and the possibility that I was mistaken then, too," he explained, the intensity of his expression increasing with every word.

A chaotic wave of doubt, consideration, and thought crashed over his mind.

I wanted to interrupt him. I wanted to make this eminently _good_ man see that the right or wrongness behind his reasons for turning me was now irrelevant. That there was no need for him to continue to torture himself with the uncertainty.

By claiming me, simply by saying my name, Isabella…my Bella, had made all the bad times fade into the background. Fade into nothingness.

Yet, finding Isabella had been transformative, not only for me, but for Carlisle as well. It seemed to have shifted a basic paradigm within him. This man, my father of the heart, was struggling to show me, to tell me, how the light of this new day was coloring the basic truths he had held on to for so long. Usually, Carlisle's mind was so sublimely organized, I could hear what he would say 10 to 15 sentences in advance of the words. Now, however, his thoughts and voice had become one. He was not planning or organizing, categorizing or dissecting. For the first time, Carlisle was talking to me without over-thinking. This was pure.

This was Carlisle's _heart_.

"I was not on-shift when you brought your mother to the hospital. By the time I arrived on the ward, you had already gone to make arrangements for your father's funeral. With my senses, it was clear from the beginning that barring a miracle, your mother would not survive. The influenza was deep within her and she was already displaying acute signs of the secondary bacterial pneumonia most of my patients were succumbing to. She was very ill, like the thousands of others that were around her. Yet, her first words after I had introduced myself as her physician, were about _you_. As I examined her, she spoke of your brilliance and kindness, your curiosity and compassion. She told me about your piano playing, your track-and-field successes, and your dutiful desire to join the war in Europe. She _never_ asked if she was going to get better. Somehow, she knew that her prognosis was very poor. I could see it in her eyes that she was afraid. Yet, her fear was not for death. It was leaving you behind. As I was departing to attend to another patient, she said _"Do keep an eye on my Juney, Dr. Cullen. That boy is my greatest achievement."_

I smiled, vaguely remembering my mother calling me "Juney" instead of Junior.

"I am ashamed to admit that, as lovely as Elizabeth's sentiment was, her account of you was…typical. It was _ordinary_ for humans to think their children remarkable in some way. In my arrogance, I ascribed it to humans having so little time to leave their mark on the world that they depended on their children to continue their legacies," Carlisle admitted quietly, briefly pausing and cringing at his conceit.

"I always _did_ consider human life precious. But, at the time, it was precious to me only because I did not want to be a monster. At its core, it was about me challenging my father's fanatic belief that humans or monsters could amount to nothing more than what nature prescribed. Yes, I was repulsed by the idea of causing death but, during those first few years, I must confess that my thirst would have _easily_ overridden the repulsion. The only thing that kept me from becoming the monster my father believed in was an act of rebellion. By _resisting_, I was proving him, and his zealous notion of good and evil, wrong. I _was_ a monster, but I could _do_ good."

"L'existence précède l'essence," I whispered in awe.

Existence preceding essence. Carlisle had been fighting the flames in his throat for centuries before Kierkegaard and Sartre and the rest of the existentialists were even born.

"Yes, well, those early years, that was nothing more than accidental philosophy for me, a by-product of "sticking it" to my father, if you will," he admitted with a small sheepish smirk, uncharacteristically making finger quotes around the colloquialism. He was obviously embarrassed that I was ascribing some purposeful, philosophical value where he saw nothing more than coincidence. Yet, I could see in his mischievous smile, the rebel that still hid behind the façade, pushing against the tide of his controlling demagogue father in the only way he could.

After a moment, he sobered again and sighed.

"As time went by and confidence in my ability to maintain an animal-only diet grew, it stopped being about rebellion. My _philosophy_, as you call it, evolved into a _purposeful_ commitment to hold on to my humanity. During my time with the Volturi, however, it became apparent that holding on to my humanity was _not_ about being able to blend into the human society through my diet. It had to be _entirely_ about _respecting_ humanity. What I mean is that even if my _essence_ as a vampire, my physical nature, positioned me above humans in the natural scheme of things, respecting humanity meant that I must always hold them to be equals. And I set out to do so, to _believe_, that we were equal beings in our right to _exist_ in peace.

"The sad truth is, I was naïve. I did not take into account what _time_, what the reality of _immortality,_ does to convictions. After leaving the Italians, I spent the next 200 years roaming the planet, studying and learning science and medicine. But I was existing in the periphery of the world. I could not stay with a coven that did not follow my chosen diet and no matter how much I endeavored to be, I was not _part_ of the human world. The more time I spent trapped between two worlds, the more I could see nothing but the differences. It became _my_ kind and _their_ kind. While humans were not an acceptable 'food source' and I would care for them to the best of my abilities as a doctor, I had reached the point where one human was the same as the next human. They were born and they inevitably died while I was left behind, unchanged and unaffected. I _had_ lost my humanity and I did not realize the degree of my loss, until later that evening in 1918, when I saw _you_ for the first time..." He trailed off, losing himself in that part of his mind that I knew was not for me to see or hear.

"_Me_? Carlisle, I-I don't understand…" I asked, perplexed.

"You see, as a rule without exception, the men in the hospital paced in waiting rooms, read the papers, discussed matters of politics and the war, sent maids in their stead, or simply did not visit the hospital at all. Edward, men did _not_ sit by women's bedside softy humming Ravel and awkwardly brushing the tangles out of sweaty, copper-colored hair. Men did not apply ointment onto cracked and burning skin, nor did they read women's magazines and overly sentimental novels out-loud for their gravely-ill mothers. Especially not men of your station."

A vague, blurry memory of my human voice reading quietly to my mother, the scent of lilac-scented oils, and the rasp of a brush against dark red hair, came to me.

"Her 'greatest achievement' Elizabeth had called you. And observing you from the nurse's station, impossibly young and lanky, awkwardly folded on the too-short stool by your mother's bedside doing all those things for her, I understood that Elizabeth Masen was _not_ boasting. Standing there in the middle of Cook County's 'death' ward, I understood that even though I lived among them, tended to them, and had never fed from them, I was _as_ _separated_ from humans as the Volturi brothers themselves. I had devalued humans to the point I saw them as nothing but a mass of parts expendable to the passage of time."

Holding my shoulders with both hands, his eyes familiar as my own, burned into mine.

"But then, I _saw_ you…caring for her, changing her soaked linens, helping her with her toilette, uncaring of the whispers about the so-called inappropriateness of your behavior, how it was unseemly for somebody of your station to do so. Edward, your mother was right…you were _extraordinary. _You were not one of many. You were not expendable. And I wanted to know you, the _individual_. You were the first human I wanted to _know_, Edward."

His voice cracked and venom pooled in his eyes. After taking a deep breath, he continued, more quietly now, but never releasing me from his gaze.

"When I detected the smell of disease within you, my heart…a heart that had felt _nothing_ for centuries, broke. I knew then, that I had to _save_ you. That I was going to do everything in my power as a physician to heal you. That resolve became stronger after I began to treat you and converse with you. When medical science failed, when _I_ failed, and your mother begged me to do what only I could do, there were no doubts about whether I was going to change you. My only doubts were about my ability to do so correctly."

There was steel in his eyes.

It was conviction.

"I acted not as the result of an ill-advised impulse or pity as I did with Rosalie, nor as penance as I did with Emmett. I did _not_ turn you because I felt sorry or because your mother asked me to do so. While I was intrigued by you and desperately lonely, I had been _as_ lonely _that_ day as all the days before, without ever seriously entertaining the idea of making a companion for myself.

"Edward, I changed you because it was the only means I had left to _preserve _the goodness. You had to _continue_. Something compelled me to _keep_ you in this world, in part for my own selfish reasons as it was because of you that I found the spark of my neglected humanity, but also because I knew that someday somebody would need _you_, this young man you are, who is filled with love and kindness, a man with a purpose greater than dying a slow, painful death before ever getting a chance to live," he finished with grit in his voice that broached no doubt.

I was shocked. Since my change, Carlisle had repeated the story of my turning as my mother's dying request and his need for companionship colliding on a fateful day. Yet, I was not changed just as a favor to my mother or as a panacea to Carlisle loneliness. Carlisle changed me because I _had_ to be changed for some greater purpose he did not know, but could feel.

"For Bella?" I asked him for confirmation.

He nodded, relieved and exhausted.

_I had hope for you. My decision to change you will never be too far from my own selfish desires, but with you…I changed you because I had hope that you would take this chance and run with it. It would be disingenuous to say that I was somehow absolutely certain that this would be the exact way it would all turn out. Yet, back then, I felt it in the marrow of my bones that your future had to be more than an anonymous end and a mass grave. You said it yourself,__ that__ it is the little accidents, all the decisions, which accumulate into a great path that we walk without realizing until we are halfway to our destination. Never forget__,__ Edward, that I changed you, for _yourself_._

And, as if on cue, Esme approached and stood by the French doors that opened to this balcony.

"Go ahead, my love," she instructed her husband, with a kind smile.

"I couldn't admit this before," he continued less reluctantly, "because it would require admitting that there are indeed differences between you and the others."

"I-I don't quite understand," I asked him, confused.

"You are special, Edward. You always were. From the _beginning_. In that respect, Rosalie was right. Though we care for you all equally, _my_ bond to you…"

_And mine, as well, _Esme mentally interjected.

Turning towards her, I saw that the tiredness and despondency I'd detected in her thoughts earlier were gone. Esme's expression was solemn, but she appeared to have reached a place of calm acceptance.

Noting our silent interaction, Carlisle amended, "…_our_ bond to you, has always been deeper and more complete. I owe you more than you can imagine, Edward. I am the man I am today because of you."

That was ridiculous. If anybody owed anything, it would be me owing Carlisle the world.

"Don't roll your eyes at us, Sullen Cullen, Junior," Esme scolded as she approached us. "You do not see it…how the little things you constantly do for Carlisle and me makes us better people. You never have."

"Esme, I don't—"

"Don't interrupt," she chided kindly and held my hand. "From the beginning, in spite of your reservations about my presence in the life you had built with Carlisle, you accepted me because you loved him. But you did not stop there, you opened your heart to me too."

"Esme, anybody would have—"

"Done the same?" she interrupted again. "No, they certainly would _not_ have. What happened tonight in this house is proof of that. And, before you bring up Jasper, Alice and Emmett, we all know that while, yes, they _do_ love us, to them we are just confidants, counselors, friends, and brethren to varying degrees. Those boundaries are firmly set and won't change. You, on the other hand, have done us the great honor, of allowing us to be _more_ to you than only that."

Esme was right.

Parents.

These were my parents in every way that counted.

But for some reason, I could not say it. So, I nodded instead.

Still, in their eyes, I could see that they understood.

"You don't have to say it. We _know_ and Edward, we are so very _honored_ by your regard," Carlisle said quietly, squeezing my shoulder.

Esme smiled and brushed back the stubborn piece of hair that was always in my face.

"Edward, I promise that things will change. You deserve better than what we have been giving you for a long time. It _will_ take time, but we will make it right," Carlisle said.

Before I started to object, he gave me a pointed look.

"I know you don't think so or that you believe it is not necessary, but it is. Especially now that Bella will be a part of our family. Dealing with Rosalie and Emmett will have to wait until they resolve their own issues. Yet, according to Alice's vision, great changes are coming and we _must_ be prepared in every way. A great part of that requires that we make absolutely sure we are all on solid emotional ground and, for that, we need to make amends to you for a great many things," Carlisle stated.

Then he shook his head and grimaced sheepishly.

"Amends that should start right this moment by me _asking_ you instead of _telling_ you…so, Edward, what do you think?"

I closed my mouth with a snap. It wasn't that Carlisle _never_ asked me for my opinion, it's just that he usually asked for my opinion to inform his own, not to divert the path once he had decided as leader of this family.

"I, um…that sounds like a plan?" The words clumsily tripping over my tongue.

"Are you asking him or are you telling him, Edward? This is Carlisle we are talking about. You know how he gets with _imprecision_," Esme teased.

"I am not _that_ bad," Carlisle defended himself. He was actually pouting.

Ha!

My not-so-quiet snort won me, what Alice would call, the "stink eye" from the blonde to my right.

"Darling, a week ago you spent 2 hours and 19 minutes grumbling about Dr. Gerandy's note on that patient's chart. I know the exact duration of your fit because I _timed_ you."

I sighed.

Here we go.

"Es, it is not _my_ fault the man cannot be bothered to use punctuation. He wrote "Patient unable to eat bloody stool." The visiting not-so-bright intern _actually_ asked the patient why he was attempting to eat fecal matter. It was _mortifying_. A simple comma would have—"

"Carlisle!" Esme's warning interrupted the beginnings of a Carlisle grammar-rant that, once started, would go on for hours.

Besides, it was time for me to go meet Bella.

"Oh! Would you look at the time? Looks like it is time for me to go receive an education," I said, as I attempted a swift getaway.

But it was not to be.

No sooner than I had taken less than half a step away, Esme had linked arms with me and begun her inquisition.

"So, Edward, did you feel the 'spark' when you held hands with Bella? It's incredible, is it not? I _told_ you that she would not run away from you, didn't I? She's such a darling girl, intelligent and intuitive and so beautiful. And the fact that she is silent to you is too perfect for words! Can you see how absolutely perfect that is? It's fate or straight out of a fairy tale."

Swallowing my pride, I turned back to a smirking Carlisle and mouthed, "Save me!"

His smug smile just got wider and he shook his head evilly.

_You are on your own, son. Enjoy your day!_

"I saw that, Carlisle!" Esme chided without turning.

And without missing a beat, she continued her Bella-gushing while she all but dragged me inside the house.

Behind me, Carlisle muttered and started to follow us, mentally planning his defense.

I smiled.

These were my parents.

Bella was right.

This was _my_ place.

**AN2**- Ch.10 will be posted in two (2) weeks (at the latest). It is mid-term exam week, which applies to me since I'm back in school (new profession = yay! But changing profession = SUCKS!), and the current profession/work that I despise is giving it to me twenty different, painful ways (but it pays the bills so I have to take it like a porn star). Anyhoo, Ch. 10 is well on its way. Yet, given the level of brain drain I'm carrying around, instead of promising a deliverable with an impossible deadline and disappointing you all, I'm giving myself (and the fab Ms. Hemingway) a doable timeline and coming through as promised. So, two weeks!


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